NO LONGER IN LOVE

Today, I finally let go.

I did it! The seemingly impossible, I deleted your number.

You came into my life at the darkest time, when I had a crisis about coming out to my mother. You were always there. You showed me love and gave me a reason to hold on. You were my first love, my first kiss and my favourite person. It is funny how we both had our lives planned out, even how many kids we would have. You always had something to say. And we talked about everything and anything (we were both gossips and I always had “premium gist”).

You introduced me to your family and friends, and we attended your family Thanksgiving service together. You often asked me how you looked every time you’d just gotten dressed up, because you hated shoes and felt insecure about how you looked in your clothes. And I always told you that you looked perfect. We sat together in the church at the Thanksgiving service, and all I could think about was one day walking down the aisle to you and attending many more church services with you. You explained to me every Catholic Church doctrine I thought was weird and made me see their true meanings.

I remember when you told me you had so much going on in your life, how you missed your mother who had died many years ago, and how you were not with your family because you were out of the closet. You told me about when you stood under the grotto and cried to God for so many things, and I kissed you because my heart ached so much from listening to you. And I said to you, “I’m here for you.”

You often asked me to pray so your “hustle will pay,” and I did – not because I was after your money, but because your happiness meant the world to me. And of course your hustle paid; you told me about every deal you made, your wins and losses, and I was always there to motivate you.

But then, like they say, every good thing comes to an end. You began to withdraw with the excuse that you were busy with work. But I could feel some weakening from your end. I could feel that things were starting to no longer be the same.

Then came the day we made out and you wanted sex, but I couldn’t consent because I had made up my mind not to have sex till I was 18. You didn’t force me. You didn’t try to pressure me. You simply let it be. And it seemed as though you were letting me be, because I couldn’t give you everything you wanted. I was afraid that by denying you sex, I was not being enough for you. So I called you and told you that we need a break, because I wasn’t ready. You may not have known this, but it really hurt me to say those words to you. And when you said okay, when you agreed to my suggestion, it broke me even more.

But then, you called a few minutes later, asking that we make up because you simply couldn’t lose me. This warmed my heart. You were willing to wait for me until I was ready. If it was ever possible, this caused my love for you to blossom even more.

But that was for a while. Things started deteriorating again, the absences, the silences, the coolness from your end. It got to a point where it felt like I was fighting for your attention. I’d wait for your responses to my messages and not get any. I’d call and you wouldn’t answer. Or you’d pick to hurriedly tell me you were busy and would call me back. My heart was breaking all over again. Whatever happened to you not wanting to lose me?

The day I called you, wretchedness etched in my voice, you hit me with it. You told me that you needed a break because I wasn’t ready.

You needed a break! You needed a BREAK?!

How dare you ask me to come back to you, only to turn around and break up with me so?

I was devastated. I cried for days, and when my tears dried up, I looked for songs to make me cry some more. I could never seem to stop crying. I cried because I saw you everywhere. I cried because I couldn’t tell my family why I was so sad. I cried on the phone when I spoke to you, pouring out my heart to you, telling you how I was feeling. And all you could say was that you didn’t mean to hurt me. You said you had your demons and were struggling with them. You told me you didn’t want to be into guys anymore, that you now want to be straight. This betrayal shredded into the wounds that were still tender. You were not only breaking up with me, but you were doing so because you thought who you and I were was unclean? How could you have made the journey out of the closet so far – only to regress to this terrible state of mind?

Eventually, this did give me some peace. You were no longer into me, not because of me, but because of you. I found a way to stop crying with that thought. I was able to stop bothering you. I went offline and concentrated on life and on taking one day at a time. My distance must have startled you, because you started calling me severally. I couldn’t not answer your calls.

And as times passed, when we spoke, I could listen to your voice without feeling that stab to my heart. In fact, I imagined we could be friends now. You surely seemed to want us to be friends, because you were talking to me about the girl you tried to have sex with. Unsurprisingly, that hurt me more than I expected it to, but I did not say anything. We were trying to be friends, right?

Wrong. Because why would you then get upset when you found out that I had become chummy with Obinna, the mutual friend we shared? Obinna is not only straight, but you had no business acting jealous over my friendships. You were trying to have sex with girls, remember?

Why?

I asked you that. Why were you being jealous? I wanted you to say the words, to give life to the hope that was fluttering inside my heart.

“I’m not jealous!” you denied.

“Yes, you are!” I insisted. And when you didn’t say anything to rebut that, I added a question: “You miss me, don’t you?”

To which you answered in a tone that sounded heart-breakingly sincere, “Yes, I do. I want you back.”

You rushed on, headlong into your apology. You said you were sorry, that you really didn’t mean to hurt me. That you were dealing with so much trials, that it made you think that your homosexuality was the reason for your troubles. You’d felt cursed and wanted to fix it, to change. Then, you simply wanted to concentrate on your hustle. And now, you were financially stable and had everything you need to take care of me.

But truth be told, I never asked for any of those material things. I may be young, but I didn’t need to be taken care of. I just wanted your love. And the fact that you didn’t see that, didn’t know that, the fact that you needed time apart from me to figure yourself out and still didn’t see that all I ever want is your love – it was all I needed to know that you would hurt me again.

I told you I needed time. That seemed to upset you. You hung up. I was going to let you be, but the loneliness was ravaging my soul. My heart had tasted the nourishment of possibly being loved again by you, and it wanted more. I struggled with my reservations. I remembered those dreams I had about the future, the Thanksgiving Sunday when I envisioned myself walking down the aisle to you. Then I remembered the hurt, the sadness, the times I felt like I was going to cry myself to a painful death.

I wanted to go back to being with you. But I was afraid of getting hurt again.

When I called you to try to explain what I was going through, why I asked for time, you seemed upset, impatient – like you couldn’t understand why I wasn’t jumping for joy over the fact that you now wanted me back.

“If you can’t make up your mind, let’s just be friends,” you said.

That was when it hit me. You never really loved me. You loved the idea of me, of being with me, but not me, not really. It didn’t matter to you how I feel, how I deal, how I struggle. You simply wanted to be the one to break up with me, the one who walked away, the one who gets to walk back in and decide when we’re on and off and on again.

I disconnected from that call and I did what I’d never thought I’d do. I deleted your number. I began to erase you from my life. I deleted every text we’d ever exchanged, messages that I left in my phone during our break because I enjoyed reading them. Now, I wanted nothing more to do with them. I blocked. I deleted. I erased.

I don’t kid myself that I have stopped loving you. But I feel stronger now that I no longer have to love you.

Written by Mitch’s Biggest Fan