This Isn't For You.

This isn’t for you.
         At least I am pretty sure it isn’t. This isn’t even really about you it is about my perception of you. Which you would say is probably skewed, and I mean, Fair. I don’t know if I love you like I’m not supposed to: I don’t know if I am really in love with you. I know I miss the days up in the mountain where the three of us were unstoppable, invincible, and infinite. I loved the last time we went up and you had her drive and your hand made waves in the wind. The windows rolled down the music blasting, it was cold but none of us cared because the sun blazed down on us giving us the reminder of warmth.
         Those car rides in the mountain were safe. Going up I was invincible, and going back the sound of the road and a soft playlist, it covered up the silent tears that ran down my face. I knew that one day this overwhelming feeling of warmth and belonging would end, and I knew that to an extent I was still looking in.

This isn't for you.
         I know you need an explanation, and I know that deep down you deserve to read this despite all the warnings. I read your letter to him, I read your 18 steps to be happy, and I’ve seen your video of coming out, and more recently of dysphoria. I read it and I know that it emits the same feeling the same dead passion that flows through my journals. Sure the 18 steps and videos and those vains of hope, but they also scream “nothing and everything left to lose.”
         I know it violated your privacy and the words “this isn’t for you” will taunt me through this whole… thing… What it is I do not know, perhaps it is a letter, like all the ones you told me to write to so many others. Getting broken up with over a google docs is not nearly as heartbreaking as sitting in the coffee shop, contemplating over these thoughts, words, self isolating to stay sane.

This isn’t for you
         The Summer 2017 was one of magic. Everything was perfectly balanced: a boyfriend, a bad influence, a wise influence, Fridays between 5:00 and 6:30, at a broken building, with a group of people that I tentatively, silently, called home. Even after reclaiming my single status, I was always busy, always keeping myself open to love, as it came so easily at the beginning of the summer. I still had my bad influence and my wise influence, and my broken building with the people I still loved: purely and with no intentions other than to accept and give love just as fully as they all did.
         As my birth season faded and the summer waned I lost myself in the hype of fitting in again. I lost my bad influence, my wise influence, my broken building, my family shrunk, and that precious word home, started disappearing.
I remember the days we went to the mountain without you, it was still incredible, I still felt infinite, but my safety and belonging rested on conforming not expressing. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth that I would ever have gone to our place without you. But I did, and then the betrayal happened, so I started expressing instead of conforming and they hated it.

This Isn’t For You.
         My bad influence comes in waves, in a little burst of smoke every couple weeks, I find myself missing them. As I was so hurt that summer too, but it was never about feelings with them only talks of sex and participation in drugs, and that was all that mattered. In those moments. I find myself taking in those bad habits alone this time. I understand why people smoke alone now, I understand that it would never have been peer pressure that pushed me over: it would be listening to your music under a bright moon, and having this feeling that though I was free of my secret, I might have also sentenced myself to the end of an era.
         My wise, kind, beautiful influences came back too, they came back with reminders, validation, and familiar amazing music that I didn’t know I missed. I am so sorry I never told you how much I loved your music. I am sorry that I never voiced my appreciation for you, for her, for her affect on you.

This Isn’t for You.
         If someone asked me if I could go back and change how things turned out, I would’ve said no. It isn’t the type of feeling where nothing else matters, where I would do anything to change the hands of time, where I would foolishly destroy myself and you in the process. I’ve done that before, but no, it isn’t like that. I don’t want to destroy the magic that held me together through my lowest last year. The last thing I want is to destroy the power couple that was a integral part of home that summer. I want to leave and run away before I destroy it all.
         I’m sorry I never told you how important you are to me. I’m sorry I used snark and sarcasm to mask my hurt and cover up my mistakes. Maybe this is for you, but after all I violated in this page in a half on google docs, I understand if you don’t want it to be.