Before you start to read this, here is a warning: This will be an earful, a long, spewing explosion of things i need to say.
I’m going to start with him. Since it’s 2 am Leiden time and we just left the room, doors slamming voices reaching new heights. But this isn’t new, it’s typical. I try to apologize, for the way i am, for being so jealous that he’s moving in with all his friends and not me. That i wasn’t even invited when they needed another person. The offer alone would have been nice. But he sees this ending. Which just points me to believe it actually will. We’re not going to make it, we’re completely wrong for each other and i should have realized it a long time ago. And no, it’s not that he’s all wrong for me, or I’m all wrong for him, we’re both to blame. We’re just two fucked up kids from separate sides of the universe who thought maybe the distance between our lives would teach us things about ourselves. All I’ve learned is that i don’t know how to love properly, I’m controlling, I’m too attached. I can’t ask for any thing, and i give complete power of my mood over to whom ever has my heart.
I guess i should explain that my boyfriend is moving into a house with his friends. Not a big deal right? Well back when we were happy, we made this plan, that summer before junior year if we were still together, we’d get a place together. Since he lives in a different state, a house where he could stay close to me over the summer sounded perfect. A house that we could both stay in, was a dream come true. It was stupid, i know to have so foolishly thought something like that would actually go through. But it didn’t seem that out of reach. At the time, i was an incredibly well put together 17 year old, i had 2 jobs that i balanced well, i was a pro at saving money and i was generally just smart about the choices in my life. Not to mention i had just finished my first year of college. i felt like i could manage paying bills and living with the man i loved.
Again, there’s more too it than that, Let me tell you about why this idea of “playing house” sounded so appealing. When i was 15 my grandfather passed away. It’s not some crazy dramatic horrible thing that happened, it was just life doing its rounds. But in losing my Grandpa, my grandmother was left alone. I’ve always been that kid that thinks with her heart before anything. (that’s why i get into half the messes i do.) There was no way my grandma was going to spend her first night as a widow in an empty house, so i stayed with her. That one decision changed my life. I’m not saying it ruined it, Very very far from that. After that night, i spent every single day at my grandmas. I basically lived there, but as close as it brought my grandmother and i, and the things I’ve learned from it, it never really felt like a home. The summer of senior year my mom let a close friend i considered a brother move into my room, and slowly, not even my own home felt like home. Nothing did, no one did. And that’s when it all started. I could never go home even though i walked the hallways of my house nearly daily.
And then i met him, and then he became the closest thing to home i had. NEVER, EVER make your home a human being. It’s bad and its wrong on your part. My part, i was wrong in making it so. I know that now, but it’s hard to just change your emotional ways over night.
Back to the begining, i was just trying to say goodnight, i was just trying to apologize for the way i am, the terrible way i treat him, and now im upstairs alone and i don’t know where he is, part of me wants to go sneak down to check on him. But i shouldn’t, so i won’t. as much as im going to worry about him.
As butt hurt and jealous as i am, he means everything to me.
even if this ends tonight, next week, preferably never, he’s always going to mean something to me, I’ll always love him.