Things I Could Never Tell You

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September 8, 6:50 am.

I couldn't sleep all night long. I don't know if my restless nights are coming back. I hope not. But I've been thinking and overthinking this.

Why do I write you everyday?

I've been trying to make up an excuse for this the past few months, but none of them were good ones.

I write you because that's the way I found to translate my feelings into words. I write you because I have finally found a way to vent out my anger and everything I'm feeling. I write you because what I'm feeling is too big to fit in me, so I type it.

It doesn't mean that I'm still infatuated with the idea of you like I was one year ago. No, it doesn't mean that. I'm not your prisoner anymore.

I have set myself free. I saved myself, Tyler. It seemed like the hardest thing to do, but I did it.

I don't write for you. I write for the person I thought you were back then. The kind person. The person who would make me crack with his stupid jokes of how the demons would pull me if I left my feet out of the bed. The person who would hear me. The person I wanted you to be, so I ended up creating you in my mind. I ended up seeing an illusion of you, even though I had the whole truth right in my front.

I ended up seeing my version of you. I blinded myself to your flaws, thinking everyone had them.

And they do.

But in my mind, you were perfect. I pictured you as the contrary of the person you were.

I'm writing for the person who would stay until 11:00 am on Sunday morning making pancakes with me until one of them would end up in the ceiling and we would have to spend our afternoon wiping it off.

I'm writing for the person I learned to love.

And if it makes much sense, that person isn't you.

It's the version of you I created in my mind years ago when I first saw your brown eyes.