(English translation also below)

Perdon, amigo.

Me odio qué estás triste. Y te sientes que estás solo. Yo estoy aquí. Pero no puedes verme. Creo que yo estoy algunos pisos abajo de tu. Pero creo que puedes oírme cuando hablo contigo. Porque por un momento, pares llorando, y tal vez quieres comunicar conmigo.

Y tengo un perro que lo hace todo el tiempo. Es muy vocal. Creo que ella piensa que es una persona. Or, tal vez solo que yo puedo hablar y entender la lengua de perros.

Thank you for not smoothing out your corners and rough edges. Yea, they’d poke and scratch me up every now and again, but with enough distance, from all these months apart, I’m grateful you’re you. The pokes challenged me in a new way, and at the end of the day, weren’t really a big deal. 

You embraced my edges, too. 

Thanks for crying so much with me. And letting me cry. And let me hold space for you to cry. 

When you zoom out, it’s kinda funny to think that it’s entirely possible that our relationship involved more time crying together than anything else. But it was beautiful. It was healing.

I cried about you yesterday. It was the first time in a long time. I’ve needed to get it out, but I’ve been too angry. Too hurt. 

I’ve been holding on to it for a while. I’ve wanted to let it out but couldn’t get myself to.

It still hurts. I feel like I was left behind. Or used. 

But I know I can’t entirely blame you and I have to ask myself why I put myself in that position. And that’s heavy. There’s some shame in that.

But you know, it feels good to be used, sometimes. It feels good to be needed. To be useful. To have something to offer. I guess it’s easier to measure worth that way sometimes. It makes it easier to pinpoint something tangible. 

I don’t want to admit that I still miss you. I don’t want to admit that every now and then I still open that one drawer that has your shirt in it, just to see if it still smells like you. 

Because we both knew it wasn’t going to be forever. And I don’t even know what I’m really missing. Whether it was just lying next to you, or staying up late talking about the difference between being silly vs goofy. Or whether it was just knowing you were there. 

If we were still talking, I'd ask you about this tank top from Pride that’s too big. I know one tailor in town but I don’t know if tank tops are things people bring to tailors. Or I’d ask you for advice on how to do it myself. Or if you were feeling enthusiastic, I’d let you go at it.

But we’re not talking, so no, I’m not going to reach out. 

After all, I remind myself, you have a husband now.