subject line: secrets.

 

Thousand Oaks, California

Hey stranger,

I’ve been debating calling out your name when I walk by you lately. Part of me wants to know if you ever told her about me. Part of me already knows the answer, but won’t admit it. And then there’s the small part of me, tucked away in the corner of my chest, that’s screaming on a soapbox about the hope that might still be out there for the two of us. I’ve started to regard that small part as the crazy one I cross the street to avoid.

Maybe I should start crossing the street to avoid you too.

Because here are some things I’ve been thinking about lately, the things that have stopped me from telling you that I wish you the best, but have me inching closer and closer to telling you the honest truth, that I wish I hadn’t met you:

There is worth in every honest statement.
There is value in every feeling.

”I’m falling in love with you” is not a statement that should be followed with the idea of “but it’s not worth the risk.”

You knew I was a risk the moment you first caught my eye across that classroom. You knew the danger that came with me - the warning that maybe, just maybe, I’d be the hurricane that crashes through your safe, ‘happy’ world. And I was. I showed you that maybe you were missing something in this life - maybe that something was me. And you chose me, day after day, for every music filled 2 a.m., for every three hour conversation in the late afternoon, for every heavy conversation, for every wine-drunk story I had to tell. I was a risk, but I was the risk that you wanted to take. Until you didn’t.

And then you chose to take the risk that I was, and destroy it. You became the coward I never knew hid in you. You picked every fear I had - the silence, the distance, the cold - and used it against me. You chose that. You chose fear. And I can’t forgive you for that.

Once, you chose me. All of me. Now, you choose cowardice. You choose this ‘safe’ life - the only life you’ve known - because it’s easier than taking a chance on the green-eyed risk that asked you the hard questions - ‘why’ and ‘why not’ and ‘is this really going to make you happy.’

I am fearlessly and impulsively honest. You are fearfully and coldly silent.

But that’s not the man I started to fall in love with. That’s not the one I trusted. I miss him. I still search for him in the crowds, still wait for his call at 2 a.m.

If he ever comes back, if he ever finds himself ready to take a risk, I want him to know:

He had me. But he doesn’t get to have me anymore.

I am not some secret for you to keep.

So tell the universe what you want. But if you want me - you’re going to have to speak the hell up. I still love you, but I’m too far away for whispers and hidden messages.

Speak up, stranger. But stop weighing your soul down with your secrets.

You deserve the chance to scream them out and set yourself free. Even after all this, even after I told you that I felt like you didn’t care and you told me ‘we’d talk soon,’ even after the missed calls and the ignored smiles, I still believe in that. A piece of me still believes in you. And even if that piece is on the soapbox I mentioned earlier, I can still hear it from across the street. I’m still listening.

- me