Dear long haired secrets,

I wanted you to know that there are things I wished you could have told me.

Not things I know, but a deep longing I sense in you.

A longing it pains me to not be able to fill.

In the back of my mind

I had imagined sitting in your yellow kitchen...

it seems like it would be that color right?

I could see me holding your hand and you telling me what hurt you

and then saying that you would be happy again, truly open

because you loved me.

And we’d just sit there staring into eachother’s tangled but warm eyes.

But instead you gave up on explaining,

said you loved me, told me to come visit you

texted me that you weren’t interested in relationships now days later...

what you don’t know is...

I can see your pain in those bright but distant eyes, caught in an electrical and slow pull back toward another planet, beyond where I can reach.

I know that you aren’t going to be ready for me.

Not

before I’m old enough to move on.

I get to have me in my life.

And I’m not giving myself up for you.

You aren’t here.

You aren’t able to reach my heart fully again.

But I know you won’t forget me either.

That must be terrible for you,

to be hopeless about who can be in your heart,

about what can’t be changed.

I would know.