our (in)complete story
You, the one who wrote on my paper, pretty doodles and beautiful sentences — I don’t want you anymore. You read about me and wrote too much on me, ripping off the pages that you wrote and the ones that I wrote about you…it was almost all of me.
Yes, I confess that it was also my mistake, for making you the main character along with me. It was me and you.
Exactly, it was — because I don’t want you anymore, even if you present a new discourse using the gift that you possess with words, hitting my weakest points that are so familiar to you. No, it won’t fit in my book because I’ve changed, and your words will never be able to fill up the emptiness that you caused. That place doesn’t belong to you anymore.
Yes, it’s true that you were the only one who understood the hidden meanings between my paragraphs, and there were so many intricate pages that you could unriddle. And I thank you so much for it – for wanting to know me truthfully, something that no one had the courage to do until you appeared; and for staying with me until there were no more pages to be written by the two of us.
Seeing you following your own way it’s the right thing to do. We were never made to write so many chapters together. That’s the truth that I took some time to accept. After all our adventures, tears, fights, passionate moments…I know I didn’t have the same role in your story as you did in mine. I wasn’t more than a secondary character that sometimes would find a way to your centre when no one was there for you, or when you needed to be with someone when you were in your most vulnerable state.
However, from now on, you’ll be a forgotten character, soon at the back of my mind. You ended up being temporary, just like the majority. I never thought we’d have a word limit, that you’d end up belonging to that group, after all of our promises.
Maybe that’s the reality: from the moment that people change, the promises made by them may become null. To be honest, it’s fair if that happens.
To expect someone to always stay the same is to deny the law of time.
Maybe that temporality is necessary for a story to become interesting enough. We need individuals with different and unique personalities to write each other’s narratives because even liking someone a lot, we can’t simply change them in order to make them stay with us when their time to leave arrives.
Therefore, even though I still love you, I’ll give you the freedom in my story so you can go far, very far away from me since you ceased being mine. The chapters that belonged to us can remain like that, incomplete – and I’ll complete the rest of my narrative, without you, and you’ll see that I’m so able to do it, despite being without the pieces you took away from me.
— cxw
