My dearest

I need to get something out. Something that could change us more than anything we’ve ever been through. And only time will tell if that change will be for the better or worse. And the not knowing of that is enough to eat me alive. Then again, so is this thing inside me. So either way….

I think I’m in love with you.

There it is. In black and white. A real thing. Like the knot in my stomach and the quiver in my fingertips. Tangible. Words I haven’t used in regards to anyone for many, many years. Words that I don’t throw around frivolously. Words that I know won’t get me much in return.   

Because right now our timelines don’t match up. They never really have. Since we met I always had this underlying feeling that we hadn’t been through enough life yet….we hadn’t marinated enough to be who we needed to be for each other in that way.

You were ready for it at first. I was your type then. You said things and did things that made that more than evident to me. But I wasn’t ready for that version of you in that way. Yet somehow over time, in our marinating, I seasoned out of being your type and you turned into mine. And now I want to say things and make that more than evident. But you’re not ready for this version of me in this way. Funny how life works.

So now I find myself trying to get over you. You who I’ve never even been in a relationship with. I have to find a way to be okay with not knowing what the future holds; with not knowing whether our timelines are even meant to line up. I have to have faith that if it’s meant to be, it will be, while not totally closing myself off to anyone else, like it would be so so easy to do.

Because I can’t make you love me. I can’t try to change every little thing about myself to fit your type again. I’m a different person now and if you aren’t in love this version, then that’s that. And that’s something I’ll have to be okay with. Because you mean too much to me to be otherwise.  

And maybe in five minutes I’ll look back on this and regret every word or maybe in 50 years we’ll laugh about the time I confessed my love in a blog post. Either way, it’s out. No longer eating away at me. No longer just a thought that I’ve been rolling around in my head for months. And I’m glad for that.

Love, Me
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