March 28, 2019
I wish I could call you and tell you happy birthday, but that would be weird, wouldn’t it? First there would be the awkward, “Who is this?”
“It’s me, Seth,” I’d say… “the boy who was hopelessly in love with you, irrespective of the entropic properties of both time and space, and to you is now likely just a pesky echo from the past.”
“Oh, how are you?” you’d reply, with an air of indifference.
“I don’t know how I am”
Honestly, I don’t. I’m not any closer to being worthy of you. I’m still shy. My social skills can still only be described as stilted and lacking. I’m still poor. I have no connections or status of any kind. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know what to do. I wish I could just move on, but I find more and more evidence each day that it’s impossible.
You are the standard by which I judge everything else. No one is as beautiful. No one is as discerning. No one as caring, mature, nor exceptionally human as you. I find that everything I do is in at least a roundabout way an attempt to psychologically and spiritually bridge the gap between us. If it doesn’t get me closer to you, I have no interest in it. Relationships, friendships, romances, they all face the same issue. “Well, this person isn’t Nell. They’re not as perfect, nor will they bring me closer to her in any way.” I can’t get close to anyone.
A lot of people mistake “moving on” for avoidance. They don’t face their fears. I suppose I’m guilty of that. But how do I face you and find the peace that I need?
Anyway, the second thing is the simple fact that you’re married. “Any kids in the future?” I’d ask with a silent knot in my stomach. You just living your life has now become a reminder of my failures and shortcomings. I’m still writing songs about you. I thought a decisive ode to you would be enough to quench any thirst for emotional closure. Apparently not.
And third, clearly you and he are in love. Not even the showy kind… it’s a real love based on friendship, respect, and admiration for each other, which makes me happy for you but deeply sorrowful for me. Before, I felt like the happiness for you overshadowed any self-pity. Now I think they’re more even, and those emotions cancel each other out, leaving my feelings in a sort of limbo.
Forget the fact that days when my thoughts are free of you don’t exist. Forget that my tastes, my preferences, and all my life choices are based around yours. Forget that for over a decade, you’ve been the driving force behind all of my motivation. If I actually heard your voice again after all this time, my brain might literally explode.
You opened my eyes, my mind, and my heart and then proceeded to haunt them for years. All I see is you. I love you; I love you; I love you. Every cell in my body, every atom, bears an imprint of your spirit and knows nothing else.
I surrender. I accept my fate, like Sisyphus before me, cursed with an eternal punishment. I am both bitter and grateful that you’ll never hear nor read my words. Bitter because I can’t tell you how I feel without risking further alienation and pushing you away. And grateful that I don’t have to endure a fiery reprise of deadly emotions.
But, maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way. Maybe I need to step into that fire. Maybe I need to start embracing my psychosis. Maybe I already have.
Happy Birthday Nell
-Seth