Another Letter I will not send

How can I tell you that you are completely right to think that I was angry at you but also that I’m completely in the wrong to be angry at you? I’m mad at you because you moved on. I’m mad because you’re happy without me. I’m mad that I can’t be with you. I’m mad because I thought you were sticking it in my face that you had moved on. And all of this simply proves that I’m a shitty human being. I have no right to be mad at you. We broke up.

You’ve been good to me. You’ve met with me and talked with me. You haven’t cut me out of your life entirely. And that means something to me. And how have I repaid you? I still hope that you and Jim break up and we’ll get back together. I haven’t moved on. I write on my blog that I know you sometimes read that I still love you. You have expected me to be an adult in this new relationship, and I’ve just proved how childish I am.

I want to be honest with you, but I know that being honest will only show you that you shouldn’t talk to me, or be around me, or have anything to do with me. And I can’t stand that either. But maybe I need to make that decision, let you go not because its what I want, but because it’s what you want and what I need.

I don’t want to lose you from my life. You and I understand the world in a really similar way. And when I’m feeling fucked up, i know that you’re out there somewhere making it through. You were one of my best friends. And now we’re basically acquaintances. I don’t want this kind of relationship. I don’t want to be periphery friends. I want to be friends who share thoughts and feelings, good and bad. You know that I value emotional intimacy. I crave intimacy. I show my friend that I care about them by being vulnerable with them. And by creating a space where they can be intimately honest with me.

But you’re different than me. You don’t like to be vulnerable. And that is ok. That has to be ok. Maybe we can make this work as an intellectual relationship. But if that’s true, then there are somethings that I require. I don’t want to be the only one that sets up meetings. I don’t want to feel like I’m pushing myself on to you, but rather that we’re both interested in talking.

Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell you any of this. Or whether I should tell you this. I probably shouldn’t. How do I tell you that I like Emmett, but love you? I just don’t know. Tell me. Tell me what to do.

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