Skinny Love
for emma, forever ago
If I'm being honest, I don't know how to start this letter and I think that you'd expect this kind of thing from me, so I'm going to jump right in and say that I loved you, but I loved you for all the wrong reasons. I can picture your heart ripping in half but hold it together and finish reading this without crying.
Just because you didn't drive me crazy and just because I didn't imagine my future with you in it doesn't mean that I didn't love other things. I loved that you didn't eat enough and I loved that you cried too much and it sounds so twisted out of context, but I loved those things because they allowed me to take care of you, and that made you happy — and it took way too long for me to realize that that's fucked up. I never yelled at you or pushed your buttons because I was scared of breaking you, and you cared too much about me because you thought I'd kill myself if you stopped, but I wouldn't have. And I'm sorry for putting that much pressure on you without being aware that I was doing so, and I'm also sorry that you weren't aware of how much you pressure you were under.
You didn't love me, Emma. Don't crumple this up and throw it away because I know you'll dig to the bottom of your trash can to finish reading it once you're done trying to put a curse on me for being so cold. You thought you did, you still think you did, but you didn't love me and you didn't want to. You wanted me to fix you, and pick up your broken pieces, and part of the reason for breaking up was so that you could hate something other than yourself because I know you won't forget about that phone call almost a year ago.
I should have put this at the beginning, but if you're reading this letter, it's been a very long time and I wrote this for you forever ago, but don't wonder about what I'm doing and who I'm doing it with and why I'm even doing it in the first place because it's not your business to know, and I want you to focus on yourself. Stop hooking up with guys who smell like me because I know you are. Stop thinking that I'm going to call you someday and we'll be together again because I won't and we won't.
I don't even know where this letter is fucking going because I have so much to say and nothing to say at the same time, but what I really want you to know is that even though I loved you the wrong way, you were still an incredibly important person in my life and that is something that I will take to my deathbed. I want you to know that you did help me, and that I'm not angry and that I don't punch things, but I'm also writing you so that you'll let me go because I can feel you reaching for me whenever I fall asleep at night.
Let go of me, Emma.
Hold on to yourself.
Maybe I'll see you someday. Maybe I won't see you ever again. But if we do end up sitting in the same coffee shop or listening to the same record playing in some vintage record shop, I want to know that you've stopped hating yourself without you having to tell me that you stopped. I want to look at you and just know. I want to see what you're like when you're in love and when you wake up smelling like tangerines instead of cigarettes.
And if there's anything that I want you to remember for the rest of your life, it's that you're living in your own civil war and nobody can save you from yourself. Stop hating yourself. Stop arguing and feuding and trying to kill the parts of yourself that you hate because you'll end up killing yourself entirely. I want you to be so alive that you can touch the stars.
I know that you wanted to be made of stardust someday.
Just because you didn't drive me crazy and just because I didn't imagine my future with you in it doesn't mean that I didn't love other things. I loved that you didn't eat enough and I loved that you cried too much and it sounds so twisted out of context, but I loved those things because they allowed me to take care of you, and that made you happy — and it took way too long for me to realize that that's fucked up. I never yelled at you or pushed your buttons because I was scared of breaking you, and you cared too much about me because you thought I'd kill myself if you stopped, but I wouldn't have. And I'm sorry for putting that much pressure on you without being aware that I was doing so, and I'm also sorry that you weren't aware of how much you pressure you were under.
You didn't love me, Emma. Don't crumple this up and throw it away because I know you'll dig to the bottom of your trash can to finish reading it once you're done trying to put a curse on me for being so cold. You thought you did, you still think you did, but you didn't love me and you didn't want to. You wanted me to fix you, and pick up your broken pieces, and part of the reason for breaking up was so that you could hate something other than yourself because I know you won't forget about that phone call almost a year ago.
I should have put this at the beginning, but if you're reading this letter, it's been a very long time and I wrote this for you forever ago, but don't wonder about what I'm doing and who I'm doing it with and why I'm even doing it in the first place because it's not your business to know, and I want you to focus on yourself. Stop hooking up with guys who smell like me because I know you are. Stop thinking that I'm going to call you someday and we'll be together again because I won't and we won't.
I don't even know where this letter is fucking going because I have so much to say and nothing to say at the same time, but what I really want you to know is that even though I loved you the wrong way, you were still an incredibly important person in my life and that is something that I will take to my deathbed. I want you to know that you did help me, and that I'm not angry and that I don't punch things, but I'm also writing you so that you'll let me go because I can feel you reaching for me whenever I fall asleep at night.
Let go of me, Emma.
Hold on to yourself.
Maybe I'll see you someday. Maybe I won't see you ever again. But if we do end up sitting in the same coffee shop or listening to the same record playing in some vintage record shop, I want to know that you've stopped hating yourself without you having to tell me that you stopped. I want to look at you and just know. I want to see what you're like when you're in love and when you wake up smelling like tangerines instead of cigarettes.
And if there's anything that I want you to remember for the rest of your life, it's that you're living in your own civil war and nobody can save you from yourself. Stop hating yourself. Stop arguing and feuding and trying to kill the parts of yourself that you hate because you'll end up killing yourself entirely. I want you to be so alive that you can touch the stars.
I know that you wanted to be made of stardust someday.
♠ ♠ ♠
"For Emma, forever ago."
— fin.
— fin.