Updated: Dec 10, 2019
When I look back at our history, I sometimes feel like I'm watching a foreign film without subtitles. You're as transient to me now as a stranger would be, but the truth is, I felt glimpses of that when we were together, too.
You were always so caught up in the idea of you, of who you were trying to be, that you never really let yourself be. You never gave yourself a chance at figuring out who you really are. I didn't want to wait around until you rose to the version of yourself that I was always hoping you'd become.
Staying with you felt hard that leaving was easy. I had always imagined that our eventual split would take me awhile to get over; it was something I dreaded at the time but knew was inevitable. We'd be sitting at dinner, walking in the city, going on excursions in a new country, and any time I would open up to you, you had no real reply.
Everything was one word answers, a go-to script of acceptable responses - nothing came from the depths of you. Is there a depth to you? There was no one really there for me to connect with. You'd be on autopilot and I'd be asking myself why I even try.
I think I was just always trying to be seen by someone who never really saw me. And I understand now that that wasn't your fault; what I kept trying to pull out of you, you never had to begin with. It was my fault for getting annoyed at you for not being who I wanted you to be. It was my fault that I stayed as long as I did.
I wish I could say that I remember good times together, but the girl who I was then compared to who I am now, doesn't believe in the same version of happy. Happy to me then was a dulled complacency - a second voice constantly nudging me with the question, is this what you really want? I got so used to asking myself that, that it became my normal.
If you were to ask me if I was happy years ago, I'd probably say yes. We of course had good moments together, things that made us, us. But after I left, I elevated my idea of what I wanted to feel and what I was capable of feeling. If I learned anything from you, it's that I desire something big and all consuming - as with anything in my life, I don't want to play things small.
And you, Mason, thought the way you were living was playing things large, but I know you felt so small. I wonder if you still do. I hope you don't.