the ones who loved me (2021)

The girl who loved me at 15 is now with the wind. She left me just as quickly as she came to me. I remember the day we met, and the way she tried to drown out her emotions with stoic words, with her stories. We were still learning our bodies, learning to love. She was the first girl I fell in love with, and I don't know if I need to explain what it is like to have your first love be your first heartache. In the way poison weaves it's way into sweetness, but kills you just the same.

The girl who loved me at 16 could never love me out loud. Beneath whispers in the dark and hushed voices in her room, she was never quite ready to say "I have a girlfriend." To me, I'll never forget the words that were said by the ones i had confided in:

"It's a phase. Everyone goes through it. Your cousin did once"

"Are you crazy?"

And the fact that this girl was someone I could never conjure up on social media as if to solidify her presence, made her seem more like a ghost than a real person. Loving her was like loving a supernatural entity - because i knew what i saw and felt. I just couldn't show her to others. Sometimes I wonder if I made her up. I wonder if the stories we weaved of our future together were truly just stories in my head.

But then sometimes she'll send me a snap. Sometimes, she'll message me and say "I miss sexting you" and I'll think about the way I could almost feel her kiss on my lips if she could only have been real enough to herself to not hide me in her closet.

The man who loved me at 17 had terrible timing. Broke up with me right before a forensics tournament, so that was legit the worst timing dude. But I'm so proud of who he is, and the love he has now. Nothing but goodness for us bro.

The man who loved me at 18 is dead now. The moment I heard of his suicide, I left the house that I was in and drove to my parents because being alone with that news felt like the moments I'd been alone in his bed, confused, afraid, and not knowing where his hands would be next.

The man that I loved at 19 has given me permission to punch him in the face the next time I see him. I wasn't going to ask for permission anyways but good on you dude. He loved me thoroughly and completely and it's funny how when he left I'd never been so empty. He's the reason I go to therapy. The abandonment from 26 hours of no contact only to be left with "I can't do this" was the reason I promised myself I would never give someone the power to break me ever again. That promise still holds true and sometimes I feel the people in my life recognize it, and it breaks them, too. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I was a teen with an almost 40 year old man. I no longer hesitate in saying that no 40 year old man has any fucking business dating a teenager.

I broke the man that loved me at 19. I let him follow me and I kept him at arms length as an option, never completely his. I loved him through and through but always reserved just enough to run at the slightest crack. I ran so far away from him that I ran away from myself. I ran so far that I was unrecognizable. I changed a lot, and that is natural in a relationship. Others grow together. We grew so far apart. I am always hoping that he is growing further and fuller than he could ever grow with me. I am growing fuller and further now - our roots had been so intertwined, I sometimes catch myself finding parts of you still intertwined with my existence.

The man who I love and the man who loves me has always been waiting for me. The way he left trinkets at my door when the days were tough. The way he snuck post it notes into my notebook.

The man who loves me knew he loved me before i even knew he existed. When he told me he loved me, I ran away from him for a long time. He stayed right where I left him, wanting, yearning.

Sometimes he says "even if we were never going to be lovers, I wanted to be your lifelong friend"

Sometimes he says "I knew we were gonna make babies when you said "it isn't love but it's close" (and for the record, I only ever remember saying that in my head and never out loud)

But he waited until I was ready to love him back. It was powerful to be in a position where I could break someone. But there was something else in his gentleness that coaxed me from fear. What do we do in the moments where we have to look at our younger selves and say - having the power to break someone doesnt mean you should do it.

Returning to the moment where he professed his love, and speaking our love into existence, is one of the hardest decisions I've made. Like making a promise to myself, to trust my own decisions again. To live again. For a while, I thought returning to him after months would mean I was too late. I was wrong because he loved me all the same.

The man who loves me never questions my decisions, even when its taken us away from each other. Supports me in my identities. Challenges my intrusive thoughts. Grounds me. Spoon feeds me gentleness and affirmations when I can't even get out of bed. Holds my crushed and broken soul in his arms and shines his light through the pieces until I glow again. He is the sun.

The man that I love, I have only ever been able to love in halves. Half in secret, half out loud. Just enough for the people who I love to know that I am cared for, but not to where it compromises our "jobs" or the "image" of what a traditional couple should be, should look like. If there's such a thing. Loving him in halves sometimes splits me in half. There are sunsets that I sit through alone without him. There are sunrises where I do not wake up beside him. There are meals made, memories created, without him sometimes. And I reason with him, that this makes it worth it in the end. Sometimes I believe it. Sometimes, I don't. Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to convince myself more than him.

Once, I was playing our Playlist, and a song that he sent me when we first started dating, played. The opening of the song is what I think resonated with him: it goes

From the first time I saw you

I knew that you’d be mine

We didn't make it to the chorus before he started crying (also a side note: theres something fucking attractive about men who have the emotional intelligence to be able to cry openly). He was driving and thtas dangerous so I turned the song off. I wiped his tears and we held hands in silence for a while. Some things can be left unspoken. I know that he never thought he would make it to this moment with me. I'm glad that he never gave up. I'm glad that I stopped running. Loving him in halves has given me more joy than all the love I've given and received combined. When the moment comes that we can fully love each other - I wonder what cities we will set on fire then.

How do we forgive ourselves for the people we were when we knew so little about ourselves and the world around us? How about the people we used to fill voids within ourselves, or the people we would burn ourselves out for, just to keep warm?

How do we ever reason with ourselves for the decisions we make when we are in love? How do we ever go through life without it? How do we deny others the ability to love authentically, and how do we deny ourselves the ability to love authentically by clinging to an idea of someone, rather than true happiness?

I hope you find your reason to love, and I hope you know it's never too late.