This piece is old. Around two years old, I think. A lot has changed since then. I talked to the girl who I wrote about, and we had an amazing, passionate relationship that I wouldn't change for anything. I'm still friends with her, and I've moved on. But this was a hard time in my life, and I think more people need to share their hard times, because it shows how we've all grown. Looking BackLooking back three years ago, I remember. I remember, and I smile because that year was the best year, and it was filled with roses, and I hadn’t yet noticed the thorns. I smile because I remember how enamored I was with the new. I smile because I knew you, and I trusted you, and you trusted me, and it was perfect.
Looking back two years ago, I remember. I remember, but not everything, because that year was the year that the thorns grew longer than my finger, and they punctured my skin, and your skin, and I watched. Helpless. I remember, but not everything, because I tried so hard to forget. Now, the thorns are duller, shorter, more of a visceral pain than a sharp, clear, memory. I can’t remember much, but I still remember you, because you were there, and you were comforting, and I grew to love you in a new way. A way I knew I couldn’t love you. Looking back three months ago, I remember. I remember that you had chosen a new confidant, but I still loved you. I remember when you disappeared, and I was so scared because I knew what the thorns can make a person do, and I couldn’t keep them at bay without you. I remember the dull pain aching in my chest, not just because of the thorns, but because of losing you, in more ways than one. I remember when they told us, and those weeks seemed like years. I remember vividly the feeling of hot, salty tears running down my face as I told myself it was my fault. And it was, and it is. Looking back a little less than a month ago, I remember. I remember and I smile. Not like when I remember three years ago, but a little sadder. I remember my elation when you told me you loved me. I remember your elation when I told you I loved you too. And then I remember that you stopped. Two days of bliss and then silence. You wouldn’t even be near me. You ignored me. Left me alone, confused, wondering. Trapped, because I always wanted you most. Trapped, because I was unsure whether I was allowed to move on. Trapped, because I wanted so desperately to find mutual love, but knew I didn’t deserve love in any form. Trapped, because I failed. Again. I failed to protect you from the thorns, and I failed to keep your fragile love for me intact. And I wondered a lot of things, and I wonder a lot of things still. How could you like me when I don’t even like me? Of course, you only liked me until you pulled me too close, and examined my imperfect features more closely, and you realized I wasn’t whatever you thought I was. I wasn’t smart, or pretty, or funny, or anything I wished I was, or pretended to be. So you pushed me away. I can’t say I blame you. In fact, I congratulate you. You pushed me away after almost three years of mutual trust, and you pushed me so very slowly back into the thorns. I didn’t notice until my skin was bleeding from new gashes, deeper than the last. You pushed me away in a nuanced way in which only you could do, and I cried. Only once, and only for you. I only ever cried for you. After that night of sleepless, restless sadness, I stopped. I decided not to show you I still loved you, because after finally being able to make myself vulnerable, to take off my armor, you forced me to put it back on, and this time I had battle scars. To cover in cool, calm unhappiness, and hide myself from you again. Which I did, and do, because it is almost all I know. It’s safer, anyway, under layer after layer of impenetrable smiles, and nods, and lies. But I do still love you. Despite all my best efforts, you would still be my first choice. All others are nothing compared to you. You give better hugs, better advice, better comfort. You understand me, because the thorns have calloused you too. I understand you, or at least I used to, before you chose another over me, and I wish you only happiness, because, in loving you, I’ve realized I need to let you find who you need to find. But I will always love you in a way I know I can’t, and I will always be sorry.
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