an open letter

A long time ago, you told me that you knew what you wanted. You told me that you had your entire life planned out and that it revolved around me -- around the image of me that you truly believed I was -- me who was naive and needed to be sheltered and protected. Of this you were sure. I was 18, biting at the bit for adventure and newness and adulthood. I always was the one who could never wait to grow up; however I was never the one who could commit to doing it with you. I offer you an apology. I never meant to hurt you. I am only now, almost four years since I met you, beginning to understand what it means to want someone the way you wanted me. I am ready for that in my life -- maybe not now, but soon. I am sick of these near-misses that are sometimes utterly heartbreaking. I'm ready for the romance that I will talk about when I'm 80, the one that sweeps me off of my feet.

Now I feel closer to you than I have in years, ironically. Because it is only now that I really have nothing to hide and nothing to worry about. It feels like there is, maybe, finally something to talk about. I hope you are happy, even if I don't act as attentive and affectionate as I once did. Only 2 months older than me and your entire life is falling into place. And mine, a mess, is still in the very beginnings. But what good lessons I've learned from you. Hopefully it is these lessons that I keep with me and not the frustration. Hopefully I will still learn from you, in some new way. Hopefully you can be happy that I am happy. Hopefully I'll be able to love someone the way that you loved me. I'm sorry I couldn't love you back.