in my old room (sitting with it) part two
I moved back to my parents place yesterday. Ended up leaving Davis later than planned, but I should have expected delays. Everything was hurting. Still hurting. Packed our belongings. Packed things we shared. Packed my things away, from you. I appreciate all the help that you’ve extended to me and continue to. You are taking care of Kubo love for now and that means so much to me.
Once I finally left Davis and began my 8.5hr journey, I was ready to embrace the flow of emotions. It came in waves and rushes. In between music (Orion Sun & SAULT really kept me going), I was swimming in an ocean of love from friends and family. Their check-in calls brought me tremendous gratitude while also treading with weight of frustration and grief.
Where’d you go?
Why’d you leave me hanging?
What was going on?
This past week, we spent most days together. Still held hands, still reminded each other with kisses, and still made love. This is all completely new to me, to us both. I wonder whether or not it would’ve been easier to completely cut out the affection and love. To pretend that I didn’t just spend 4 beautiful years of my life with you. 3 years of living vulnerably and intimately together.
Our love is still there, so how could we simply ignore it’s presence?
To me, I lost you before you lost me. I had never seen you cry and we cried together. A newfound heaviness of loss.
I feel kind of betrayed to a degree right now, maybe disappointed is a better word. I am not sure if I feel disappointed by you or by my own doing. For letting you in and for knowing parts of me that no one gets to see. Parts of me that I struggle to love entirely because the world has told me not to. Parts of me that needed a kind love. A sensitive love. Because I am a sensitive being.
I love -all the parts of you- that you’ve shown me and all the parts that I didn’t get to know. Even when I didn’t understand your language. Even when it seemed like you hid from me. Told me your only need was space. Your only love language was space. But I saw how you were with people, with family, and loved ones. How you were when you drew, painted, wood-worked, cooked, baked, brushed your hair, and scratched Kubo’s chin. Light in your eyes, desire for warmth. Light in your eyes, reaching for love.
I know as one human, I can’t provide all the warmth that you need. However, I thought our relationship brought a warmth and safety only a home can bring. That was until, I noticed more absence, less presence, and more reasons why my needs and boundaries were difficult to be met. It’s so annoyingly cliché to say that actions speak louder than words. “If it’s important to you, you need to repeat it”, “If you want it, you have to do the work”, “If you want that, you’re going to have to tell me”. I told, repeated, and did work. I did everything I could with all that I had. I loved with everything that I am. More and more, I was forgotten about as the reminders/conversations aged. More “I spend most of my time with you” than “When do you need me?”. More “I’ll let you know” than “Absolutely”. More and more, my need for you to meet me, pushed you away.
With this, I was simultaneously in a comparison state. A place that many women, especially women of color, try to rise from. Boundaries provide a place of safety from this heart wrenching place. Growth can occur and shifts can be made, but respect is the ultimate form of love and care here.
I want steady, gentleness, and commitment. I want ready to withstand the occasional storm and turbulence. And I felt that contradicted your expressive preference for pretty, fun, and new. “A good time”. New experiences. With most of your friends in Davis being 19–22 years old, “young” is a word that sticks out to me right now.
I am 26. And while many consider that young (I don’t consider myself old), I don’t always feel young. I don’t regularly feel energy to be out past 10pm. I don’t really thrive at parties where I don’t know half of the people. I like active days, intentional evenings, and cozy nights. Maybe the pandemic played a role in this shift, but I knew you were on a completely different ship. I tried to make sense of it all. Was it our difference in age? difference in life experiences? interests? emotional maturity? what does an “adult” relationship look like?
Did I grow old to you?
Was I not bubbly enough?
Was I not crafty enough?
I said I’d stop questioning and trying to find answers but it hurts to accept that we parted ways while I did everything I could to meet you. Respect what your needs were. Joined and attended what I had energy for. Always lovely.
I realize that lately there were times I felt you were bored of me. I can understand the exhaustion of my assertions, questions, and boundary revisions. I know boredom comes and goes, but I felt like you took parts of me that fascinated you, sparked your curiosity, until there came a point where I needed your love. You showed up less when I needed your heart to meet mine.
Love is a powerful force that I am thankful to know. Feel with you.
We are all in the process of learning and unlearning; recognizing what makes life worth it and more loving. I tried for the past two years to integrate healthier habits when it came to living with anxiety and trauma. Spoke to several therapists, attended different groups, and took advantage of resources (still on that). I know you don’t understand my world as I navigate this body of mine, however, I thought it was great when you also were on that journey with me. Understanding our different realities so we can love one another with more sensitivity and grace. We created something beautiful.
I wish you were here.
I miss you