I think you should stay. The doctors said there’s a gap between our hands that shouldn’t be there. They said that it would stop aching eventually but it would burn until then. They said you can’t be homesick for another person, I don’t believe them though. My legs don’t like walking into rooms that you’re not in. Last night I couldn’t sleep in the bedroom because my knees wouldn’t take me up the stairs. My thighs had told them they missed your hips. Nothing is agreeing with me. I’m going to a cardiologist tomorrow just to make sure they didn’t miss anything. Look, the thing is, I’m already on fire for you, I’m already leaving my doors unlocked and my windows open, I’m hoping you’ll crawl back into bed with me, I’m hoping I’ll wake up with your hands around my neck and your name in my mouth. The doctors will call, I’m sure. They’re going to say ‘there’s a blockage, and it’s leaking but it’s nothing we’ve ever seen before.’ And I’ll tell them ‘yes, it’s my arteries, they’re tying themselves into knots, they miss him too.’
—Azra.T “I Am Somehow Always in Mid-Search For You.” (via 5000letters)
Delete her number.
Stop ringing her. Stop messaging her. Stop making excuses to see her, to drop by her place.
Erase her name from memory. Remove yourself from her life, more completely than you would like but as completely as she deserves. Move on, so that you can allow her to also move on. When you close your eyes, you don’t get to see her face. Not anymore. You don’t get to think about her lips, the warm glow of her skin when she rests next to you, or how she squeezes your hand in her sleep. You are not allowed to remember the smell of her perfume, that she only drinks mint tea (with two dollops of honey), or that she loves you.
She loves you.
She has been in love with you for too long.
So, forget how she says your name. Forget how she calls your name. Forget how she screams your name. Forget that time you got sick and she stayed up with you all night, letting you lay your head in her lap and holding a cold compress to your forehead. Forget how her hair feels in your fingers. Forget how she looks in your sweatshirts.
Know only that she existed at one point in your life, but relinquish all hope that she could exist at another point — sometime in the future that you are unwilling to specify because you don’t know what you want. Yet. It is not fair for you to swoop in and out of her life as you choose. It is not fair for you to say that you are satisfied with “things as they are” and you will have time to “figure it out” later. Let her stop investing emotionally in you. Let her pour that love and care into the people who deserve her.
Don’t tell her that you think about her all the time. Don’t tell her that it bothers you to hear about her with other people, but that you’re willing to understand as long as she likes you more than them. Don’t tell her that this isn’t the right moment but that there will be a right moment. There is not going to be a right moment. She shouldn’t have to wait for the right moment.
Don’t tell her that you can’t handle ultimatums, that you don’t like the idea of finally adding finality to your relationship — whatever still remains of it.
What you are telling her is that you want to keep her on as an option, that you are taking her for granted, that you want to know she will be there, that you can depend on her at the end of the day. When you find that no one else has stuck around or that those who have are less interesting, less thoughtful, or less doggedly loyal to you.
Doggedly loyal to you.
That is what she has been to you, for you almost as long as you have known her: a constant emotional crutch, the guarantee of stability, a safety net while you reach out to grasp objects that sparkle and shine far greater than she does. All that glitters is not gold, haven’t you heard?
She is fire. You are ice, and you are afraid that her slow burn will smolder your cool, hard demeanor. That’s what has driven your decisions, your actions all along: fear. You are a coward. You are a hypocrite. You are terrified to let her go, but you are afraid she is too good for you, that she could drive you wild, that you would choke on her flames. That she is too much for you to handle right now.
But if you choose not to love her now, you can’t choose to love her later.
Look, I haven’t learned how to forget you yet. There is a mark on my bottom lip that is the exact shape of your primary incisor. When I undress your fingerprints are on me like a crime scene. They say ‘I was here. I belonged on these hips.”
And I think ‘God, yes, yes he was and yes he did.’
—Azra.T “A Brutal Truth.” (via 5000letters)