An open letter to every man I’ve ever loved:
I loved you when I was sure I would never love again. However, each time was a different kind of love. Regardless of the type, they were all equally as life-changing.
Every man that I’ve ever loved has been the same person: sarcastic, ambitious, and stubborn. A man so incredibly blinded by the thought of success, that his tunnel-vision caused him to over-look the small advantages that he’s received. Never satisfied with his winnings; always with a relentless hunger for more.
I’ve always thought of you as a reflection of myself because at some point in time, you showed me both who I ought to be and who I refused to become. On one hand, I admire you: A person who is so incredibly drowned in his work, that he sometimes forgets to come up for air. At the same time, however, I detested being numbers 3 and 4 on your list of priorities.
You were selfish.
I wanted to fix you.
I became absorbed by your demeanor and consumed by your character. In exchange, you assimilated my code of ethics and mentality into your life. I became you, and you became me.
In the process of finding you, however, I lost myself.
Our timing was off.
The problem with relationships is that there is no such thing as starting fresh. You transport all the luggage from your previous affairs into this new connection and whether you like it or not, your perception is altered.
After some time, I came to the conclusion that I could break my own heart – I didn’t need your help.
Though I am no longer the person who runs her fingers through your hair, or the woman who sits with you in the car at 11pm listening to you detach yourself from the heaviness of your day, I will always be here.
I am going to live in your innermost thoughts. I will turn your mirror into my home and always reemerge just when you think I’ve entirely departed.
Keep making me proud, keep making yourself proud.
Ps. If you think I am writing about you, I am.