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tomakeroomforthetuna · 4 years

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Day 8 - Your Ex-boyfriend

Dear Jaren,

I shredded my journals in a fit of shame. Something I regret from time to time. Every now and then I’ll find something I had written about you, back when we were in love, and I’m shocked at how true that loves seems, how pure and free. Because most of the time, I remember screaming at you. Or I catch my reflection in the mirror after the shower and I see the scar from the time I carved into myself with a razor blade and went too deep. I remember how much I hated myself because I had let myself kiss you, let myself love you. I remember how I hated myself because even though I had supported you as much as I could, given you everything, still you couldn’t love me. Sometimes, I think about that first year, when we became friends again, and I remember how pathetic I felt. The girl in love with her best friend who really didn’t seem to care for her very much. The girl in love with her little sister’s ex. The girl in love with the guy who had a crush on every other girl who crossed his path – just not her. Sometimes I think about that last year, and I think that maybe the only reason we stayed together was because of the circumstances, that I had already locked you out of my heart. Sometimes I think about that year we lived with your mom and how horrible it was. I think about that Thanksgiving when you guys went to Maine and how I stayed in that cold, lonely house with your dogs that shit and pissed everywhere. Sometimes I think about the summer, fall, and winter that we partied hard. I think about the chaos, the fun, the excitement, the poor decisions we made. Sometimes I think about the summer you came back from Maine, almost unrecognizable, obsessed with Jim Morrison, sporting a beer belly, an even bigger beard, and a handle of rum in your hand. I think about cleaning up your vomit and screaming at you. But I have these small memories that stand out to me. The moment I dropped down onto my knees in front of you and it felt like servitude, it felt like handing you everything, it felt sexy and flirty and powerful and freeing. The time you called out the wrong name in bed and I slapped you across the face, “What’s my name?!” I slapped you again. “Say my name, bitch!” The moment I left you drunk in your mother’s driveway, covered in piss, passed out. The moment I decided to let you go – I wasn’t able to, but I had been determined- because you crawled into my room after leaving hers asking me to cure your blue balls and in the end I did. The moment at Chris’s when you held my hand and told him, “Sorry man, we gotta touch.” It was confirmation that you felt it too, it wasn’t all in my head. And it was so much more than that because that night you were my protector, even if you didn’t know it yet. The moment on Christmas, at your grandparents when you told me I was cute, and I let myself believe that you might actually like me. The moment we were getting gas and you told me, “I spend money on you like you’re my damn girlfriend!” You used that line as a way to ask me out. I see old pictures and I remember that we wore each other’s clothes, basically shared every item of clothing we wore. We shared everything. I see pictures of the keys hanging around our necks and remember that we never took them off. Always matching, always together. I wonder if you still have that key. Now that I’m thinking about it… I remember staying the night in Camp Verde, you holding me while we slept. I remember telling Linda in the morning and the way she said, “I saw that.” I remember going back there when we were together, and how us being together just felt so right to me. I remember before we were together, how much I had to fight myself to not reach out and touch you. You were a magnet and every muscle in my body ached to close the inches of space between us. I remember how you called me ‘babygirl’ and we were ‘TJaren’, taking on the world together. I wonder what you remember. I wonder how often you think of me, if its ever at all. I wonder how you think of me. Are your feelings and memories of me as complicated as mine are for you? Am I a pleasant memory, a crazy story, a regret? It’s strange how I’ll never know.

#30 day letter challenge #letters never sent #writing #ex #ex-boyfriend #love #loss #break-ups #heartbreak

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