Why We Can't Be Together ✔

Immature

Dear Immature,

Young love. I know what that feels like now because of you. 

The cute daydreams; the walks to my place; the passing of innocent notes.

You were the first guy to ever hold my hand; the first guy to ever kiss me (mind you) on the cheek; the first guy to make me feel any more than just butterflies in my stomach.

Although it is not the definition of love that I consider today, it was puppy love − a love that my young self would consider love. I trust her instincts at the time. I can see how she can love you.

She loved your quirkiness; she loved how you talked to her in school and outside of school whenever you had the chance; she loved talking with you outside of her house, watching the traffic pass by. 

It was an innocent love.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on you − I never thought anything, remotely significant would happen between us. It's hard not to reminisce to a simpler time; a time when we were naive and stupid and predictable.

Nothing was ever going to happen between us. 

At least not the way you or I had imagined.

We weren't going to date; we weren't going to end up together; we barely knew each other. 

My parents liked controlling me − who I hang out with; who I talked to; who I liked. If they didn't approve of you, they weren't going to make it easy on me.

I wish we talked about it more...then, maybe we wouldn't be so distant. 

It seems like it was a century ago, but thinking back to that time, I lost a good friend; a friend I could have had throughout high school.

But things don't always happen the way you want.

It crushed me when you said, "We should break up." I mean, at least you told me after ignoring me for a couple days; being so cold for a couple days; making it seem like I was nothing to you for a couple days.

After those couple of days, everything changed for me in my 13-year-old life.

You said you wanted to break up − break up whatever we were doing. Instead of telling me why, or maybe it was the fact I didn't ask, not wanting to know the reason, not wanting to know why you hurt me, not wanting to know why you were leaving my life, you just said, "We should break up."

You were leaving.

You were leaving.

That fucking crushed me; it crushed me for a month. 

I pretended it was okay: 

"Oh, yeah, I was planning to break up with you, too."

How stupid can I be?

Why would I say that?

I wanted to confront you; I wanted to know why you were ignoring me for the past two days; I wanted to know why you were so distant and cold to me.

You wrote me a poem. It meant the world to me, at the time. You promised that you would be there for me.

How naive can I be? How naive can I be that I thought you would stick around? 

You said you were going to be my "teddy bear" − you would stick around; you would let me hold you when I felt sad or lonely; you were going to be by my side when I needed you most. No matter what happens, no matter where we are, I knew that you were going to be there for me.

At that time, it meant the world to me; it meant so much.

It hurt so much when you threw it out. I saw the crumbled, beige page that you wrote the poem on. You threw it out in school, of all places. If I didn't see you throw something away, I wouldn't have known how little I meant to you. 

How can someone say all those things to me in less than a week ago?

Then − poof− it meant nothing.

Nothing.

I will never comprehend that. I never will.

One day, years later, I talked to you again. It was innocent. It was purely coincidental. My friend was walking with you back home. Unfortunately, we lived closer to each other than she did. She didn't mention it to me, and it surprised me. I was confused − didn't she know what happened between us? It was a long time ago, but maybe a warning would be nice.

We talked on the way home.

You were going to college. You didn't know what you wanted − not that I was surprised.