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I haven't thought about you in a long, long while.
Which probably makes sense since you do not even exist anymore. The "you", I knew, anyway. Which is a good thing, since that you were probably the saddest person I've met in my life.

Except me. Sometimes.

There's a part of me that's jealous and mad that you decided to disappear and left me alone in the middle of the shit bomb you hit me with just a moment before. There's the other part of me that knows that the bomb was never aimed at me and you disappearing was partially a desperate attempt to keep the stinky shrapnels out of everyone else's eyes.

Now I know that.

Now you're someone else and that someone else seems to be happy in a way I cannot even begin to understand, but anyhow, it's not my place. You do not owe me understanding. You cashed your happiness ticket and it led you to the place so far away from the one I'm still living in in my head that it seems like we are an actual world apart. I do not wish you anything but luck and satisfaction though. We were supposed to be unsatisfiable ones. Two idiots against the world. I'm glad you don't feel the need to be against anything anymore. There's a part of me that's crazy jealous of that. But I know myself well enough to understand that there is this other part of my ego that wouldn't even hear about trying to settle in this way. I'm way to narcissistic for settling. I've always wanted more even at the cost of the constant feeling of emptiness and tactile lack of the missing piece right in the middle of the essence of my being.

I still want more. I do not know what this is.

Oh, but I also know well enough.

I miss you like a phantom limb that's been cut away from my body too quickly, too suddenly to heal in the right way. One moment you were there, the other you were not. I've never had the time to actually mourn you, to say goodbye, to understand that maybe our lives were just not meant to be intersecting for more than this moment. And still, that stupid short little moment was enough to make me feel like the thing I always wanted and never considered a possibility was actually something people can have, even if just for a second. 

That was never the truth though. I loved you, but not like a human being can and should love another human being, because you were never a human being to me. I pretended like this wasn't true, I pretended so well I believed myself and was ready to stand before anyone who'd beg to differ and put all of my heart into persuading that person, the world and myself that this was a real thing... but you were never real to me. You were my fantasy. I used you. In the end, you used me too and that's the only thing I was able to focus on for days, months, even years to come. I was too bitter to admit that this is not how it started. I was too hurt to admit that this was, largely, my fault. That I was never honest with you. I never thought you deserved my honesty. Who you were to me was not a person, but an idea. I noticed a part of you that fitted a part of me like long-lost pieces of puzzle and threw away everything else in a desperate attempt to get the kind of satisfaction I longed for for so many years. I never asked - I just took it from you and considered the fact that you've never explicitly said no enough to justify everything. The fact that I was able to do such a thing and perfectly justify it to myself is scaring me as hell. No one wants to admit they could be that person. 

No one wants to admit that they probably still can be that person.

I'm scared as hell that I can still be that person.

I've kept writing to you for a year after you disappeared. I still have the letters. I've never sent any of them. What would be the point of sending them to someone who didn't exist anymore? What would be the point of writing, you may ask? I never did that for you, I did it for me, like everything else.

The truth, the thing I couldn't even begin to admit for all these years is that I never loved you, J. I loved the reflection of myself in your eyes. Oh, how much I loved it. I've never loved anything more in my life. You were my deepest, darkest fantasy that suddenly came through and fell into my lap and started wiggling your cute little blond tail frantically around my head for a while before you realized that the I you "knew" was never a real person either.

I'm sorry, J. I'm sorry, me. I'm sorry, world.

what I wanted to say to you
(the other you)
is that I'm so scared right now,
that I can't even begin to process it.
And the scariest part is that
if it all goes to actual shit,
(as it probably will)
I won't even be anyone's



Oh, anyway.  It is but a tale. Told by-
Signifying nothing.

Yours, sincerely

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