you wont read this (please don’t)

i have this fantasy where you turn up at my house, my childhood home, where i now live, unannounced.

it’s not so far fetched (you’ve been here before) but still silly (we haven’t spoken in months)

i don’t know what you say anymore.

in my fantasies, before now, you used to tell me you still loved me. you would cup my cheeks like you used to and say you would do anything to stay with me. that you never knew what you had until it was gone as it is, that you’ll really try this time, not like last time. (this will be an admission of failure).

that you aren’t afraid of being dismissed, that you welcome it if it is due. you only want me to know to the truth and you will deal the consequence so long as you know all is known (this will be an admission of hope)

but that doesn’t really do it anymore.

a long time ago it made sense, it fit us perfectly – you finally seeing me, you finally realising that i could be that kindness that you longed for. you would fall to your knees, you would cry – as you only have in the rarest occasion – and everything would be solved.

i don’t need to ask you to be kind to me anymore, you don’t need to ignore me when you need to.

but now, after all this, when i know you know we have done all we can: it falls, it falters.

i don’t need you to tell me you love me. i don’t want your begging, i don’t want you to ask for a second chance – i can’t give you anymore, it would hurt too much for you to ask for such a tender thing.

when we lived together i told you that i was afraid – that though i could never deny that my family loved me – they are good people, the best of people – i can’t help but feel they don’t like me.

you threw that back at me. i reminded you about it recently and you were shocked but i remember.

in a moment of frustration, you told me that it made sense i felt that way, you understood why they would feel that way.

i was so stunned i called my mum and apologized, i told her i was sorry i was such a disappointment, i understood if she was ashamed of me but she told me i was being silly and that she loved me and liked me and asked if i was okay?

I said i was and hung up and when i saw you i told you, with some pride, that my family didn’t dislike me, that i wasn’t evil and mean and that i was loved, even if you didn’t think so. so there. fuck you, so there.

we made up by a marshy river. i am prone to mosquito bites and so was bitten horribly the whole reconciliation but we made up.

you forgot about it . i didn’t. you ran after me, i cried. we fought, we walked home.

i love you. but i don’t know if i like you anymore.

i love you but i don’t think you know how to be fair. i don’t think it’s something you ever learnt how to be. i have wished you to be, i have prayed for it, the way i used to pray for my own salvation but i don’t think it’s for us.

if you’re to be well, and i believe you will, you have it in you – you, who is good and kind when only you allow yourself to be – but it is a goodness i don’t think is meant for me.

someone else, someone older than us, someone who would know what to say, who would know how to touch you without fear. i wave to her, i kiss her gently and thank her for holding my love.

i almost love her. because you will.

and yet, and still, when i’m tired and bored, when i’m sad and lonely, when i look beautiful and feel happy, i pretend the doorbell has hung, i pretend you’re down there with a bunch of red tulips and shy smile.

i pretend you’ve come to see me again. that we can start again.

i pretend you still love me enough to try for me.

i am allowed to do this.

you can’t stop me doing this. you never could.