I love you. I don’t think I’ve ever really told you, but I love you. Sometimes during the day I’ll be doing something menial, like putting away the dishes, and I’ll think about the imminent heart break that is in store for you. I’ll think about how it feels to sit across from you while eating pancakes, wishing I could help you, knowing how much it might hurt you that this man you’ve been involved with for this past couple months, half a year, feels like your whole life, will never be yours. I want you to know how he feels but I worry about how it will collapse your heart.
I don’t know how you’re so strong.
I remember how it felt; realizing that the man I was sitting next to in love with-it was so hard to be there, and to have him but to not really have him. And so for you, having known it, I want so much better for you. You’re so gorgeous and sassy and smart and any man would be lucky to have you. I am happy that you found someone who treats you well, and who connects with you, a man people mistake for your boyfriend when you’re out together. However, you deserve so much more than a man in an open whatevership, a man who was separated the first night you danced together, a man you gush to your friends about, a man who other men ask you about.
I do wish I could hand you Justin Timberlake on a silver platter. I do wish there was more for you. But I don’t see that conversation you’re going to have with him going well. However, I will be there for you. On your front porch, gin in my hands, ready to listen. Because it’s important to listen, and let someone fall apart in your hands. I’m not sure what I will find when I see what lies deep down, buried, beneath all the reassurances of how you don’t regret spending so much time with him and how you’ve never felt so close to someone, but I am certain that it too will be beautiful.