A Valentine to my Ex
You know who you are
It’s Valentine’s Day, my annual reminder of how badly I screwed it all up with you.
I didn’t even want to go out the night we met. I wanted to get drunk and watch the playoff game. But my roommate’s girlfriend wanted to go out, which meant that he had to go out, and since she had a friend from college in town that meant I had to go out too. So instead of shouting at John Farrell on TV, I was jammed in a crowded beer garden for “just one drink” regretting my life choices when you walked in, tall and bright with a million-watt smile and more beautiful than I knew what to do with, and I wished I’d brushed my teeth before I left the house.
I never thought I’d have a shot with you.
I mean if we’re being completely honest here, you were smarter than me and way better looking than me (and probably still are). Plus, I knew that if I actually got a shot with you I’d probably screw it up anyway, and you seemed too nice to hurt. So instead of trying to impress you I chose to argue, and ironically this became the spark that kept us ignited for the next three years. You with your sunny West Coast optimism, insisting with all the conviction of a talk show evangelist that life was was rolling out exactly like you imagined it would. Me with my hardened New England pessimism, insisting that life sucks and you don’t get to dream into your reality. At the end of the night you told me you thought I was interesting, but not the way I thought I was interesting, and I fell for you.
We hung out all weekend. I loved how you made me feel, and I wanted to share everything with you. I finally had an AmEx and didn’t fully understand what “APR” meant, so money was no object. Go ahead, order whatever you want! A round of drinks? Let me pay for two! We are young and we’ll life forever!
And it was one of the best weekends ever.
Then you left. I went back to my life of not shaving and drinking so much that whiskey and Bud Light started to taste the same, and just when I’d almost fogged you completely from memory, you called. I can’t think of many bigger wastes of time than talking on the phone but I stayed on with you for hours. Hearing your voice again made me realize how much I liked the sound of it, and how much I missed you.
So I bought a plane ticket for you to come visit again. And again. And again. Until it started to become a regular thing. The more I learned about you the more I was into you. I was into how your eyes sparkled when they looked at me. I was into how you thought, how fascinated you were with octopuses, how you were strangely obsessed with Gilmore Girls, and how you thought The Cure was a good band. I was even into the weirder things, like how you sometimes farted when you laughed, or how you secretly participated in highly-competitive Tetris tournaments online.
Most of all, I was into your gypsy sense of adventure; it was almost as if you were allergic to staying still. You told me you wanted to move, to change your life. I told you that you should, and that Boston is a great place to be. We didn’t talk about relationship, we didn’t say boyfriend or girlfriend,
But one weekend you flew here for good.
Looking back, I know that a part of me was totally freaking out over this decision, but I was too excited to live with you in the same city to care. We could finally do everything together, and we did. Day drank in the park. Crashed hotel events. Binged late night on HBO shows. Practiced for job interviews. We never stopped talking, or having sex, and we could create jokes between us without saying a word. One night we were at Wally’s when some girl started singing a song I’d never heard before. Before I could even ask, you leaned into my ear and whispered, “Troublemaker.”
And I knew I loved you.
It all unraveled so fast.
I knew I was treading into dangerous waters. I knew you were the best thing to ever happened to me, and that you needed to be handled with care. I knew what my father meant when he said, “Don’t screw this up” after meeting you, but of course that’s exactly what I did.
I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a straight answer when you asked me what I wanted.
Part of me was pulling away and part of me was still clinging to you, because I have the attention of a dog and am terrified of being alone. I’m sorry for all the mixed signals. I’m sorry for all the lies. Even though we still weren’t using words like boyfriend or girlfriend, I never should have promised something I couldn’t honor. Lying to someone else begins with lying to yourself, and I lied to you when I made that promise, because I wanted to believe I could keep it.
I’m sorry for when I broke that promise, and for the night you found out. We kept dating for a few more months, but this was the moment when you realized you fell in love with the wrong person, and it was over after that.
I’m sorry for when it finally ended.
I knew it was coming. You can sense that kind of thing when you are as intertwined as we were. That last night you came over and we boned like it was the end of the world. Afterwards we cried and told each other all those breakup lies, the ones that scrape up against the edge of truth. Like how I need to be by myself for awhile and how you needed to focus on your career. We said goodbye the next morning as if we’d never see each other again but who were we fooling? A good Ex never has just one act.
I’m sorry for all the times I texted you after you told me not to text.
I’m sorry for all the times you called me over to your place at 1am. I’m sorry I brought that other girl to your farewell party when you decided to move back to the West Coast. I deserved it when you ran up to me and screamed, “Are you serious?” and then slapped me in front of everyone.
I’m sorry that was the last time I saw you.
3 years later, I’ve finally come to admit something you always loved to hear:
You were right.
You do end up living the life you imagine. I’m in this place now because I always knew I’d end up here. I wish I could have imagined a better future for us, but you can’t undo the past, and people you love will always come and go from your life. That’s one of the reasons why life sucks.
I know you’re over me now.
And if you think of me anymore it’s not with anything that resembles love, or even lust. I know there was anger there once, and resentment, and downright hatred, but I hope that’s all gone now too. I hope you nothing me.
But, if I do occasionally cross your mind like a bad habit, I hope you realize that even though it wasn’t all good, it wasn’t all bad either. I hope you can remember the good times we had, and I hope you learned some things from the bad ones.
However you are, wherever you are, I hope you’re in a good place, and that you’ve found the happiness we couldn’t find together. It at least looks like you’re doing well (my best friend’s wife still follows you on Instagram and she tells me you look really happy with your new boyfriend).
