My heart broke today and you weren’t there to see.

I can’t talk to you anymore and that is so so sad because I had just started to think maybe, just maybe, you were back, you were accessible, you were mine and we knew each other again and had never stopped. And it wasn’t romantic, wasn’t platonic. It was just us and I didn’t have or need to know why. That’s over now and I can barely look at you.

And to be clear, you’re right: you shouldn’t have to go on feeling guilty or regretful or bad about your choices. You should walk in the sun and smile and live your life looking ahead, looking up. But I wonder if it crossed your mind, if I crossed your mind, if you ever thought about how I would feel about this. And it’s fine if you didn’t. We’re done with our bonding, our reconciliation. You’re released. Forgiven. Free. Free to do this, to flirt and text and go on dates and fall in love and do it all without the burden of the past nipping at your heels. I hope you do. But I can’t be close to it. I’m the girl you left. I’m the girl you loved, for a moment, maybe, before you didn’t, before you changed your mind. And a year and a half later, after talking all the bitterness and regret and resentment away until the good, until the part that was love, shone through, you still didn’t choose me. And that’s okay. I just can’t be anywhere near it. I can’t talk to you. I can’t look at look at you. I can’t be your friend and I don’t want to be. But I do want your happiness, and beyond my own hurt—because make no mistake I am deeply, deeply hurt by this—I am crossing my fingers for you, for this, for wide awake nights and hearts skipping a beat and everything seeming new and for the pure possibility of what this could bring. I want that for you. I always did, always will. And maybe that will start today, with a girl in glasses, a cup of coffee, and a place I’ve never been to, never will.