November 4, 2024

I still see you.

Lately, you’re everywhere, and I think about the love we shared. It’s hard not to miss you and imagine the life we could’ve had. I can see actors who resemble your characteristics, smell your cologne, see the model of your car, hear the sound of its engine, and still mourn for you. It’s been years, but the love remains. My heart misses you, and my mind knows better than to ever reach out again. I can’t help but secretly want to get better for you. Even though you aren’t here anymore, your words weigh heavily on my mind. Will I always be the same person who deserves only shitty men and a shitty life?

Today, I saw a movie about the trials of loving someone who is dying. My heart focused on the main character, Tobias. It brought me back to the days we were in love when your eyes were glossy and clear from the light you saw in me. Tobias had the same smile, grace, patience, kindness, and willingness you gave me. Seeing him made my heart recognize you for the first time in a long while. This wound I carry opened up a bit. Mourning our relationship, remembering your love, and laughing through Tobias’s depiction caused a surge of pain to resurface.

 When people grow up, do they ever forget their first love, or will you always remain in every person I meet? Years later, and I’m still searching for you. They don’t come close to the love you showed me. I’m taken back to the time when you visited me at work. I remember your smile as I walked with my phone to my ear, you on the other side trying to find me. As I looked up, you turned the corner, and what once was a lost face broke into a smile because you had found me. In that moment, I felt seen—someone who saw me, someone who loved me. An unwavering kind of love that I knew would never fade overcame me. Finding someone who sees me as clearly as you did—that’s impossible.

 It’s been a while since I’ve written, and of course, I write about the man who bought me my first journal to start writing again. I’m plagued by you. In this life, all I can do is reminisce about the beauty that was once us. Letting go is nearly impossible. You remain in my heart because a big piece of it still belongs to you. The life I lead is still the same—partying, working, endless temporary joy—but the pain remains unchanged; I remain unchanged. I want to crawl back into my cage, where the darkness can overwhelm me, and I’ll be numbed again. I want to find the meaning of life again, hoping that one day I’ll be good enough for you. I want to call you and just ask you to stay—that I’d change my whole life just to be by your side. Because there, I’d be right next to the joy I’ve been longing for.

 It’s hard to choose not to love you. Here I am, two years later, watching a brand-new movie with an actor who looks like you, crying over his smile and eyes simply because they resemble yours. You were right when you said I’d get the karma I deserved. The karma was losing you. This isn’t new information; this isn’t how I feel only right now. These words, this pain, lingers, stays, and is embedded in my veins. It isn’t new to mourn for you. It isn’t new to me. But it’s new to you.

 In another life, we figured things out. We’d be engaged by now and probably living together. I’d get to hear you come through the door and still be utterly in love with you. You’d forgive me for my younger years, and I’d spend every second loving you for it, knowing it didn’t define me or us. In another life, I would’ve gotten it together for you. I would’ve been better; I would’ve been enough for you and for me. I would’ve just gotten it right the first time and not been so stubborn.

 In another life, I’d be with the love of my life instead of still crying over you years later—searching for you in everyone I meet, turning them away because they can’t compare to the man who holds my heart. I still see you, hoping one day you’ll see me.