tom -
i saw a woman yesterday at the tram stop. she held a grocery bag in one hand and silence in the other, a kind of silence that screamed of things she never chose but learned to make peace with. and for a moment, i thought of me, and then i thought of you, and then i thought of all the things i ran from while pretending i was chasing something worth the fall.
i think i know now, why i couldn’t stay. why i folded my feelings into paper cranes and set them flying before they could nest. it wasn’t you. maybe it was never anyone. in every man, i thought i was seeking love, but i was just looking for a door. a way out of myself, out of the weight of being the woman i was raised to become, and the girl i was too afraid to outgrow.
you once asked me, if i believed in love. i said yes, but my answer, it was rehearsed — one i learned from watching my mother in her silk robes, sipping tea while waiting for a man to bring her the world she felt entitled to. i didn’t know then that it would echo in me for years, like a ghost that only speaks when i’m alone and almost happy.
i wanted you to save me from that. from her, from me. i wanted you to be the kind of man she would approve of — not because you’re rich, but because you made it easy for me to stop pretending i could carry everything on my own. maybe that’s why i loved you in a way that felt like stepping into a house mid-renovation — walls half-painted, dust in the corners, but i kept calling it home because i was too afraid i’d never find another with a roof.
the truth is, i don’t think i’ve ever really been in love. i think i’ve only ever been tired. and in that exhaustion, i mistook comfort for connection, chemistry for clarity, escape for intimacy. i loved people like placeholders, and maybe that’s because i’ve only ever loved myself on certain days, under specific lights, when i’ve done enough to earn it.
i am sad to tell you this, not because it changes anything between us, but because it doesn’t. because i still don’t know how to love without conditions, or if i even want to. because i am thirty and the math doesn’t add up anymore. and starting from scratch feels like a luxury i can’t afford.
i hope you’re well. i hope you’ve found someone who doesn’t look for exits in the middle of a kiss. and if you ever think of me, think of the girl who tried, even if she didn’t know what she was trying for.
- demi
i saw a woman yesterday at the tram stop. she held a grocery bag in one hand and silence in the other, a kind of silence that screamed of things she never chose but learned to make peace with. and for a moment, i thought of me, and then i thought of you, and then i thought of all the things i ran from while pretending i was chasing something worth the fall.
i think i know now, why i couldn’t stay. why i folded my feelings into paper cranes and set them flying before they could nest. it wasn’t you. maybe it was never anyone. in every man, i thought i was seeking love, but i was just looking for a door. a way out of myself, out of the weight of being the woman i was raised to become, and the girl i was too afraid to outgrow.
you once asked me, if i believed in love. i said yes, but my answer, it was rehearsed — one i learned from watching my mother in her silk robes, sipping tea while waiting for a man to bring her the world she felt entitled to. i didn’t know then that it would echo in me for years, like a ghost that only speaks when i’m alone and almost happy.
i wanted you to save me from that. from her, from me. i wanted you to be the kind of man she would approve of — not because you’re rich, but because you made it easy for me to stop pretending i could carry everything on my own. maybe that’s why i loved you in a way that felt like stepping into a house mid-renovation — walls half-painted, dust in the corners, but i kept calling it home because i was too afraid i’d never find another with a roof.
the truth is, i don’t think i’ve ever really been in love. i think i’ve only ever been tired. and in that exhaustion, i mistook comfort for connection, chemistry for clarity, escape for intimacy. i loved people like placeholders, and maybe that’s because i’ve only ever loved myself on certain days, under specific lights, when i’ve done enough to earn it.
i am sad to tell you this, not because it changes anything between us, but because it doesn’t. because i still don’t know how to love without conditions, or if i even want to. because i am thirty and the math doesn’t add up anymore. and starting from scratch feels like a luxury i can’t afford.
i hope you’re well. i hope you’ve found someone who doesn’t look for exits in the middle of a kiss. and if you ever think of me, think of the girl who tried, even if she didn’t know what she was trying for.
- demi
No comments:
Post a Comment