Uh….hi. It’s me. I know this is kind of awkward, especially considering our last “real conversation” was completely nonsensical, but you’ve been like the writing itch I can’t seem to scratch and I’m hoping this will do the trick.
I feel like there are a million different places at which I could begin, but let’s start at the night you stood me up (for the second time, but that’s just a minor detail at this point). That night, after realizing you weren’t showing up, the girl I used to be was curled up in bed, mascara stained down her cheeks, with a tattered journal and a chewed up pen scribbling down the words she’d never actually say to you. The wells of tears in her eyes blurred her vision so her words were crooked and slanted across the page. For a few weeks that’s how it went. She lay awake until daylight writing entry after entry condemning you for what you did to her, hoping you’ll want her back, longing for your attention. As I reread those lines I feel so sorry for her. She is not the same girl sitting behind her computer screen writing to you today.
We were never actually or technically “together” but it sure did feel like it. That’s why it hurt so bad when you called it quits — you were an almost. I almost had you but not quite. Since then, almosts seem to have become sort of my thing, but yours definitely stung the worst because it was the first time I was let down in that way. It seems silly, being so heartbroken over something you never actually had, but I’ll stand by my argument that that’s exactly why it was so disappointing. I blamed myself for the way you treated me, for your walking away. I couldn’t figure out what I did wrong or what was so wrong with me that you didn’t want me around anymore. If only I had done x, y, and z maybe you would’ve stayed.
This was a period of major growth for me. It was in this time that I began, slowly but surely, to discover my own independence and sense of self. It didn’t happen all at once; I was so utterly heartbroken for what I now realize was way longer than I probably should’ve been. The girl I was then wanted so desperately for you to chase after her and when you didn’t she couldn’t understand why. She cried for so many days. I wish my present self could sit down with her and tell her that she didn’t do anything to make you give up, tell her that you were the one who made the mistake.
You’ve been a piece of writing in the works since that night but it has taken me until now to finally have the right words. This is not an angry, heartbroken, written-at-2 AM journal scribble, though those entries do exist. What this is, instead, is a love letter to you, the first boy to ever break my heart, because you made me a stronger girl. I now know the type of guy I deserve and refuse to settle for anything less, for which I have you to thank in large part. Never again will I place all of my happiness into someone other than myself in the way that I placed it in you. Never again will I let some silly boy who sometimes tells me he thinks I’m pretty be in charge of how I feel about myself.
A love letter to you may seem a little counterintuitive; after all, you broke my heart. But really I’m using this as a means of thanking you. Yes, you made me feel awful but had you not come into my life I would not know myself, my worth, and my standards as well as I do now. You’ve helped me find the strength within myself to walk away from any situation in which I am not completely happy. You’ve taught me that I can, and I will, suffice on my own.
You’re still not my favorite person; I wouldn’t go out of my way to hang out with you, but I appreciate all that I’ve become because of you.
So…thanks. I wish you all the best.