everything that you hated about me, somebody else would love

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Brett,

I was going to start this softer. I really was. But it's late and I've been thinking too much. And my hands don't want to write anything pretty for you anymore.

You picked me apart like a hobby. Too loud when I was excited. Too quiet when I was hurt. You said I laughed at the wrong moments. That I was "too sensitive," like it was a flaw you could sand down if you kept at it long enough. You hated that I needed reassurance. You hated that I didn't know when to shut up about things that mattered to me.

You made it sound like love was a checklist, and I was always two boxes short.

And the worst part? I believed you. I thought, maybe I really am too much. Maybe I really am broken in ways that make me hard to keep. So I tried to shrink. To fit. To become the version of me you could love without sighing.

But here's the thing.. I've started meeting people who smile at the exact same parts of me you rolled your eyes at. People who don't just tolerate my bad jokes but add their own. People who think the way I over-explain things is cute. People who don't mind that I cry during commercials, or that I take photos of clouds like they're museum pieces.

Somebody else would love me. The way I am. Right now. The me you said was too much and too little at the same time. The me you tried to fix.

And I hate how much that realization makes me want to spit your name into the dark and never hear it again.

I hope you know that every part of me you tried to smooth over.. every sharp edge, every messy corner.. is going to be someone else's favorite thing. They'll run their hands over them and say, I love this about you. And I'll believe them.

And that will be the last time I ever think of you without bitterness.

-R

P.S. I kept the blue sweater. Not because of you. Because it looks good on me.

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