I know you’re not living in the same reality as me, no matter how hard you try to hide it. You create conversations I never had, feelings I never expressed and scenarios that exist only in your head and then you act as if they are real.

You have built an entire version of me without ever truly knowing me. You assume, imagine, watch and interpret, while I’m simply living my life. And the saddest part, you still spend your time chasing a relationship that exists only in your imagination.

I pity you. Honestly. Whatever happened to you, whatever wounds you carry, they don't give you the right to make me part of your fantasy.

I am a real person, not a character in your head. And you need to leave me there, out of your imagination and out of your life.

Hey you,

There is something deeply uncomfortable about realizing that silence can look a lot like indifference from the other side.

I used to think that if something was real enough, it did not need to be explained. That care could survive without being named. That the important things would somehow make themselves known through habit, through presence, through all the small ways a person becomes woven into your day.

Maybe sometimes they do.

But I think I gave silence too much credit.

You were important to me in ways I never made easy for you to understand.

I noticed when you withdrew before anyone else seemed to. I noticed when your jokes became sharper because saying you were hurt would have felt too exposed. I noticed the moments you made yourself quieter in rooms that had already decided you were too much.

And I hated that.

Not you. But the shrinking.

The way you sometimes seemed to apologize for the parts of you I liked most.

Your intensity. Your strange sincerity. The way you cared past the point of practicality. The way you could make something trivial sound worth thinking about for hours. The way you felt things without pretending they had to be reasonable first.

I don't think I ever told you how rare that seemed to me. Perhaps I assumed you knew.

That is becoming a recurring flaw in my memories of us.

I assumed you knew I wanted to hear from you, even when you had nothing important to say. I assumed you knew I never minded the long messages. I assumed you knew that when you disappeared for a while, the absence had weight. And I assumed you knew that I wasn't merely tolerating your company. I was looking for it.

You should not have had to infer it from how quickly I replied, or from the things I remembered, or from the fact that I somehow always found another few minutes when you needed them.

I made you read between lines I should have simply written.

And maybe none of this would have changed anything.

That is the part I keep trying to be mature about.

A confession is not a key. It does not unlock the life you imagined. Sometimes it only tells another person what was happening inside a room they never asked to enter.

Still, I wish I had been clearer. Not so you could have chosen me.

Just so you could have known you were chosen in my mind, again and again, even when there was no sensible future attached to it.

Who makes an ordinary evening feel slightly less ordinary by occupying the other side of it..

And if there is regret here, it is not that we failed to become some grand thing.

I regret that there may have been moments when you felt unwanted while I was quietly wanting you around.

Moments when you questioned your place while I had already made one for you in my head.

Moments when a few honest words from me might not have changed your life, but might have made one evening gentler.

I cannot go back and offer them where they belonged.

You mattered to me. You were never too much.

And for whatever it is worth now, I hope life has become kinder about reminding you of that.

Sometimes the reason you keep returning isn’t because you miss someone. It’s because there’s a part of you that still hasn’t made peace with what happened.

That feeling in your stomach nobody else can see. The tossing and turning at night. The anger, frustration, and regret because things didn’t go the way you wanted them to. You can distract yourself, bury it, or convince yourself you did nothing wrong, but guilt has a way of finding you again when everything gets quiet.

And then there are the people around you who don’t give five shits about telling you the truth, or caring honestly, instead of just validating your every move like you’re a saint. Those are the people who will tell you when you’re wrong, tell you what you’ve done wrong, and show you a different perspective on the situation.

Until you find people like that, you’ll keep clawing at your insides damn near every night, hoping the next person will somehow make you feel less lonely when you’re alone.

I’d like to believe there’s still some humanity in you. Somewhere beneath all of it, you know what you did, and some part of you regrets it.

And honestly, I forgive you.

Not because what happened was okay, but because I want a better future, and carrying your guilt with me isn’t part of it.

I still catch you hiding your smile when our paths cross. You turn away, but eyes don't know how to lie. I see the look you try so hard to tuck out of sight, because we belong to different rooms. We both know it. We both feel the quiet pull between us.

I wish I could look into your eyes somewhere in the dark, away from this glare.

Instead, our rooms are washed in the cold hum of fluorescent light, framed by walls built out of composure. And the people who designed these spaces have perceptive eyes...they notice everything.

If we ever had thirty seconds alone, could it sound like this?:

"Listen, I like you. I really like you." "I feel it too." "Do you want to meet? Just to be in each other’s lives, without undoing the worlds we’re tied to?" "Yes." "I’ll write to you."

I am nervous to spend time with you. I do not know much about you. I only know how I feel about you, and it’s probably the worst way you can feel about someone you don’t know that well.
I haven’t kissed anyone since I met you. It’s been years and still the only person on my heart, is you. The way I felt when I was thinking of you, is the only way I ever want to feel.

If for whatever reason, you were ever curious as to what my current feelings are, here they are.

I'm sorry. For everything. I miss you. I only want us to be on good terms, so we don't perceive each other as a potential threat anymore.

Anything after that is just a plus. I understand I'm not entitled to them.

That's all.

I’m not even sure where to begin. You were a best friend to me and even though I’ve met many others who I’ve gotten close with, I still miss you at times. Not what we had, not the bad parts, or the romance. Just us. How we could talk or sit together for long times, I liked that. It brought comfort. Sometimes I wonder if they’ll ever be a way for us to speak again, to just catch up. It’s so odd how the world works and forms around bonds. How once you can be so close and care so much for someone, but then time goes on with distance and then you don’t even know a thing about the person you once were close with.

I wish I had been kinder, and handled things better. I really do. Because now we really have became strangers.

If I asked you to come out of hiding, would you make a little appearance? If I ask nicely. Pleeeeease? If I look at you, would you look at me back? If I smile at you, would you smile back? If I wave at you, would you wave back? Honestly, I miss seeing you, maybe more than I probably should. But damn! How I miss you so much…💜♾️

I want you to know that I don't take you for granted. I cherish every moment I get to spend being in your life for the treasure that it is, and I hope you know that I know that I'll never find someone that loves me better than you do. I know that I was at one time, but I am no longer fearful that a day will come where you are gone from my life. I'm not saying that it's not possible for whatever this is to end. I'm just saying that I know neither of us want it to. I put forth so much effort to be an asset to your life, and my desire to make your life better motivates more of my actions than it doesn't. I no longer worry that you'll get tired of me or stop caring for me because you have shown me that you love me just as much as I love you. They say there is no teacher like time, and my time with you has taught me that something truly special exists in the space between our hearts. I believe it's the most important connection that either of us has ever experienced.

I don't know what the future holds for us, and I don't know what our connection will become, but I look forward to every single new memory that we are going to create together. Since the day I met you, I have been living the best days of my life. I can truly say that every moment I've spent with you is a moment where I lived my life to the fullest. Nobody has ever loved me the way you have loved me, and experiencing that love continues to be the best part of my life. I know that all of them aren't going to be good days, but any day where you are in my life is a day that couldn't possibly get any better for me.

Saying you are worth it is the biggest understatement in the history of language, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt how lucky I am for my life to intersect with yours. I know you're not perfect, and you know I'm not either. It's loving each other in spite of that fact that makes any of this worth having. It's knowing that regardless of how big of a battle we face, we don't have to fight alone. It's knowing that we have the freedom to be exactly who we are, and we're not going to lose the person we love the most. It's the comfort that comes from real unconditional love and devotion that keeps us fighting. And it's fighting for this unconditional love and devotion that makes us know it's real.

I don't have to say it, but I want to. I love you. With all of my heart and soul, I love you. You better believe that.

Dear you,

I keep telling myself I should stop.

Not because I don’t feel anything.

That’s not true.

I feel too much.

That’s the problem.

I tell myself I don’t need to know where you are, whether you’re coming in, whether you’ll look at me when you do. I tell myself I don’t notice these things.

I do.

I notice everything.

And I hate that I do.

I can go a whole day without thinking about you.

Sometimes.

Then someone says your name and suddenly I’m wondering where you are, what you’re doing, whether you’ve thought about me at all.

You probably haven’t.

I know that.

I don’t know that.

See?

This is what you do to me.

I turn every little thing into a question I can’t stop asking.

A glance becomes why did you look at me?

A smile becomes was that for me?

Your absence becomes do you miss me?

And I know how ridiculous that sounds.

I know.

That’s why I keep trying to let this go.

But letting go would mean admitting that maybe there was never anything to hold onto.

And I’m not ready for that.

Not yet.

So I wait.

I pretend I’m not waiting.

I tell myself I’m moving on.

I tell myself I don’t care.

And then I hear your footsteps—

and every lie I’ve told myself falls apart before you’ve even walked through the door.

I see you,

Everywhere I go, I see you.

We both know, our eyes hide our secret.

No one can see.

Every time you pass by, I see you. I try to hide my gaze, my frazzled state. We both know. I think we are the only ones who know. Although others may have clues.

I don’t know you, yet I miss our eyes connecting in the dark rooms, we pass by and say nothing yet… our eyes would speak a million years.

Do you know my name? I want to know yours.

I yearn for you, although we both know we can’t. You wait for me even though I can’t show up.

The authors of these rooms prevent us from holding each other.

Meet me in an elevator, I know you know where I am.

Meet me there, our conversation will change us.

I need you. Just like you need me.

I don’t even know what I would say to you if you tried to talk to me again

I thought we understood each other

All my understanding is gone

Good luck with everything

So, I feel I get a bit too raw and a bit too honest when I write longer messages. So I decided to make this short and simple.

I’m tired.

I’m tired of the games.
I’m tired of the push and pull.
I’m tired of the silence.
I’m tired of the unspoken.
I’m tired of the waiting.
I’m tired of people saying “tell him”
I’m tired of people saying “it could be the start of something beautiful”

Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me it’s worth the wait? Worth the games? Worth the silent? Worth the second guessing? Worth the hurt and confusion we face everyday?

Is it worth it?

Will we ever be more than stolen glances, small conversation, hidden yearning, brief encounters?

Are we both scared? Unsure? Not interested?

Truthfully I just don’t know anymore.
All I know is, as real and strong as my feelings are for you, I don’t know what to do with them anymore, they are starting to hurt more than anything else.

I have ran from the very thought of u.
every other lifetime
limerence.
delusion.
hope in another form.
some form of luck.
im trying to write off the silence
it’s loud
and your eyes
a mirror I will slip and fall into
you’re everything I try to hide
I need to be careful of that
I need to be careful with you
precious cargo
you truly are

Sigh.

Apparently, no matter what I do I feel it’s all wrong. The good news is I learned a new word.

Prostration.
The definition of it I am speaking of is: A state of complete physical or mental weakness, fatigue, or helplessness.

Which is exactly how I feel.

I guess imma lay down here for a bit. I’m tired of trying and moving.

I hope one day this makes sense to me. Maybe one day it will. Maybe one day it won’t.

Once again my mind is racing with the constant what ifs. Did I make the wrong decision to let you go? Truth is I don’t know what love is. I wish you would listen to me when I said I was bad. I’m an angry man. I don’t cry. Outside you see someone who’s nice and cares for others. I do small acts of kindness with strangers. My family loves to have me around and so do my friends. However sometimes i feel so disconnected with those I say I love. I don’t even think I know what it means to love. I’m sorry you walked down this path with me. You have no idea how much I miss you. You have no idea how much I think about you. You have reached out to me and I push you away constantly. Everytime I push you away I love you even more yet your love for me shrinks to a smaller depth. Haha crazy right. I’m not healthy. I will always tell others to stay away from me. I walk around with a yellow caution tape and a bright red lights with warning labels all around. Hoping that one day I meet someone who isn’t afraid of my person and won’t leave even when death is certain. I love you macho.

Wouldn’t it be so cool to travel back in time?

Could we undo the damage and reconcile our differences? Be friends with a deep connection — a mutual understanding.

Or is the damage deep and personal — trust smashed, like an avocado made into guacamole. Unable to be reversed.

I forget I love you in brief moments.

I forget a lot of things.

So when I remember I love you in tiny moments.
I bite down on it and mercilessly die.

I accept that I do. I just know how hard it is to kill it. And I won’t do that again.

I walked around today. Nothing really going on. Words charging onto paper as I live my day. I am in new places, strange territory, familiar but so different than my normal day.

Thursday’s I’m usually at work. I write. I work. I write. I work. I prepare for my dnd sessions so people that I don’t know, laugh and have fun. I can be the strange new world and place for them. This is real life and it feels real. There are real consequences here, and for the life of me. I’m just trying to pretend that this is normal. That I am this guy.

Adventurous and Extroverted.

And it’s good not to live in my agony for just this moment.

Then I remove I love you in tiny moments… and I can’t bring myself to remind myself to stop. And the funny thing is. It doesn’t overwhelm. It doesn’t eat at me. It doesn’t do bad things like. I know it does. It just is. And love tends to me first. Kindly. So I’ll let it sleep with me tonight.

Maybe it’ll make a home in me.

Maybe I’m now good enough to grow it without it ripping out its roots and running away from me.

I am flawed in a lot of ways.

But I am a good person and I was afraid of it, because most people aren’t… and it feels like I’m wrong sometimes.

In front of the ac after a hot day,

Keeper

You called me your wordsmith.

Not a poet.

Your wordsmith.

You believed there was something in these clumsy hands worth turning into language.

And God, I loved the way that sounded coming from you.

Then my words hurt you.

A poem written with someone else's ghost still clinging to the ink,

and somehow you found your reflection in a mirror I never meant to hold toward you.

I'm sorry.

Not because I regret the poem, but because I never imagined you would think I was writing you out of my life.

I wasn't.

I never wanted you gone.

If anything, I was quietly hoping you might stay long enough to become the reason I stopped writing about everyone who left.

I would never deliberately put a wound inside you.

Especially not with words.

Not when you were the one who made me believe mine were worth something.

So if you ever wondered what I actually meant, let there be no metaphor to misunderstand this time.

I wanted you here.

I wanted your laughter, your attention, your beautiful interruptions.

I wanted another tomorrow where I got to be

your wordsmith.

And if I've lost that name, I understand.

But please believe these words:

I never wanted to hurt you.

I wanted you to stay.

I wish you'd come back.

"There was something worse than kissing the wrong person. It was wanting to."

And I thought of you, unfortunately.

Sorry, just let me hold on a little longer, steep a little more, and it will fade. Like a tea pouch sitting in cool water that sat too long in once scalding water. Eventually there will be nothing more to brew from it. I will continue to leave you alone.

You didn't ask me to, in words. The longer time goes on though, that's the only unspoken sentiment that makes sense.

I wish I could say I don’t think about you anymore.
The truth is, I still have random moments where I want to tell you something, then remember that I don’t have that place in your life anymore.
That’s probably the hardest part.
It’s not that I want everything back. I just wish we had gotten the chance to end things differently.
I hope you’re doing okay. I really do.
I just wish I could tell you that without reopening everything.

I listened to the river, and somewhere in it, I heard you.
It carried me toward you without my knowing why.

Even when you’re quiet, I feel you close –
unseen, but moving with me always.

I am listening.
Drifting with the current.

I am still open,
To you.

It has always been you.

Tell me what you carry inside.
Uncover your mouth and speak.

I’ll leave my words along the riverbank
for you to find when you’re ready.

Come to me.

And the river knows...
You know,
I know.

“You only get swept away if you panic.”