It’s been almost two years since those summer nights spent by the river. Almost two years of you, or rather, me needing you. Wanting you. Missing you. Writing about you. Countless poems written about you and your beautiful fucking mind.

Some days, it’s alright. I can deal with the fact that we’re friends holding onto each other by a thread. I can deal with us not being together, in any sense of the word. I can deal.

But then there are the nights that leave me breathless, and I lay staring at the ceiling wondering why I waste my time, nights that leave marks. And it’s hard.

I know, its pointless, naive, and even cliche, but it just is.

And I dont know why you’ve made such an impact on my life, or why I’ve stuck around so long. Its true, there are days when I hardly think of you. In the time we’ve known each other, I’ve even fallen in and out of love.

But it all fades back to the pinprick of light that is your memory. You make me a better person, regardless of whether or not we’ll ever be something tangible, so thank you for that. But you’re like a recurring archetype in the chaos that is my mind and i find myself writing pages and pages to ghosts of possibility.

Maybe something would’ve happened if i’d had the guts to grab your hand. Maybe not. Maybe this just isnt the right time, the right circumstance. Maybe you’re just not into me.

(That’s where the self-consciousness comes into play)

notprettyenough notthinenough notsmartenough notcreativeenough notniceenough

I know I should move on, but those moments waiting for the kettle to boil, shivering in the february air, they were everything. So much weight in your words, so much history in your eyes.

Its been two months. I’ve grown more in the two months we’ve spent apart that I have in four years of being an adolescent. I’ve learned more from you than most teachers I’ve had. And i’ve learned more about myself through internal monologue and meditation than I ever did as one half of a whole.

So maybe not being together is a good thing. Part of me is in love with the idea of “almost” experiencing your body and soul.

And you gave me the courage to speak. I opened up to you in ways I didnt think possible, you broke down my walls so that a flood of poetry and secrets swept away my inhibition and doubt. I’m learning to love myself because i’ve realized that sometimes life is funny. Sometimes life is painful. Sometimes life is enlightening or harrowing. Terrifying or full of hope. But it is always worth living, and always worth living well.

You really are my muse, and you’ve enriched my life in more ways than I can count. My heart might be a tad bruised by the things we never said or did, but I am becoming the person I’ve always wanted to be, and I want to thank you for that. Even if you never read this.

I love you. In so many ways.

And its okay if you dont love me back.

“Everything is okay forever.” ~Kerouac

I wish you everything in the universe, and that you can heal and find yourself in the spring air. Maybe someday this won’t just be an unsent letter, but the catalyst in a beautiful love.

But either way, I’ll be okay.

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