Wednesday, August 02, 2006

To Dave


I don't know your email address, or what you're doing. I don't know when you'll be back in the UK, or if I'll ever see you again. But I want you to know, I should have believed you.

Sometimes when I have a drink or two I think about you. I can go for weeks without feeling like this, don't think I'm pining (after six years!). But when the thought hits me, it hits me like a steam train and bowls me over. I miss you, and you were right all along.

Once, after we broke up, you said that you wished we'd had sex. I don't, but I wish I'd been able to talk to you about the reason I didn't, and don't, want to. I wish I'd been able to understand the complex interplay between my body issues and my asexuality and my horrible fear of commitment and being trapped.

You were the first person to tell me I was beautiful. I never believed you, why would I? I didn't believe it myself, and nothing you could say could persuade me that I was worthy of your love.

But now I can finally see what you saw all along, and I want to see you, to tell you that you were right. I'm not looking for a relationship, even less a meaningless one night stand for old times sake. I know you were moving to America to get married, and I hope you're happy. But still, I feel like I have things that I should explain about the shitty way I treated you, and I owe you an apology.

I know you'd be proud of me, but I'm not just looking for praise. I just want to say sorry, and to appease the empty feeling I sometimes get when I realise how horrible I was when I let you go.


(This may be slightly wine induced)


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