Was it the day I rejected you when you were ready?
Was it the time I laughed when you confided your insecurities?
Was it my inability to sense your vulnerabilities?
Was it your disdain for my fantasy concept of romance?
Did we go wrong by ignoring our fundamental differences?
Was love not enough for us to be who we needed to be for one another?
509 days have passed since the day I told you I have no more fight in me. I told you I was miserable, that I could no longer feign a relationship that existed upon potential and hope. I shamed you for being detached and uncaring. I tore apart your character, blamed your inability to love me on your upbringing, made you cry for not being enough man for me. I recklessly accused you of being the worst thing to happen to me, knowing damn well that my misery predated the day we met.
509 days have passed yet I miss you. I miss your drive and ambition, your words of encouragement, your emotional intelligence, how you went about explaining things I didn’t know with such clarity and patience. I miss when you used to kiss me on my forehead, your completely different perspective on things, your stubbornness, how your eyes lit up when you talked about the things you were passionate of. I even miss how you tickled me despite me completely hating it.
509 days have passed and I love you more than ever. Your absence has allowed me to appreciate those very qualities I once hated. From afar I’ve seen you cope and I can’t help but applaud your self-healing. How I wish I could be as strong and definitive as you are. How I wish I could stay away from you and let you be. A part of me wants to share with you the woman who you helped mold. I never credited you for your contribution to my growth. I want to share with you who I am, the sensible woman I’ve become because of our twisted poetry.
My love, 509 days have passed.
We allowed 509 days to pass.
Don’t you want me back in your life as ardently as I want you back in mine?