I was in a mood.
Also I hate weddings.
November 18, 2015:
For you,
I've always been told that writing is the one way I can fully express my emotions, even if I have a hard time putting them to words when I try to say them.
The thing is, I was always positive that that particular concept only applied to songwriting; as it turns out, writing in general is very therapeutic, because it lets you organize your thoughts, putting them together, and weaving them in infinite strands of letters and words that tell a story, and describe everything you feel, see, hear, smell, and taste (though not so much that last one). It lets you tell a story, no matter how it starts, how it ends, how it goes, and how it stops. It allows you to express exactly what you're feeling, and say what needs to be said without actually saying them.
With that being said (written), I guess you can understand why I'm writing this letter.
And yes: you, the person reading this over my shoulder, from wherever you exist at the moment, this is about you. But I think you already know that full well.
First and foremost: I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that things happened the way they did, I'm sorry things spun out of control far before we even realized it, I'm sorry I couldn't switch places with you right now, and most of all, I'm sorry that I ever met you. Sounds horrible, awful, and bitter, but it's the truth; things might've ended differently for the both of us, if that were the case. You might still be here, if not by my side, but enjoying your life and living it to the fullest, because that was something you knew how to do all too well. I may not get to cherish you in the way I would've wanted to, had this happened, but you'd still be here. That's all that matters. That's all that would matter.
I'm no longer glad I said hi.
But it doesn't matter: because it's too late to go back and change what happened. It's too late to change one little thing, one tiny, minuscule choice, that could ultimately bring you back. It's too late.
If I were a time machine, and if I were a movie screen, I'd go back and tell myself to run (( if you caught that I love you )). Run far and fast, and avoid you, because surely we wouldn't be where we are right now, with you gone and me only half here, living half a life without you. It sounds horrible, especially since I'm still not sure you actually regret knowing me - though how could you not? - but it's the truth. The full, unadulterated truth, and since you're probably reading this right now and I'm literally unable to utter the words aloud, I thought I'd do us both a favor and write it all out for you. Trust me, I need to get this off of my chest too, even if it hurts me in the process.
But that's okay: because I'm already damaged, broken beyond repair.
But that doesn't matter, in the eyes of anyone else, does it? Because I'm still here - I should be okay - and you're not. I could've been you, long gone, and never coming back, but I've been instead handed the insufferable option of being here, lingering, suffering, aching with half a heart and the constant need to crawl into a hole and pretend that none of this ever happened, because supposedly I'm okay. I'm okay. Everyone says I'm okay, because I have no reason to be okay, since I'm here, and you're gone, unable to torment me any longer.
So, why does that feel like such lie?
November 21, 2015:
For you,
I swear, this was meant to only take a few minutes, and one last note, but I couldn't leave it at that. I couldn't continue on with the first one from three days ago without wanting to concave in on myself, yet I just couldn't let it be, and let this be my final departing with you.
So, here I am.
Also disclaimer: every time I say/write "I'm okay," consider it a lie, because it's not true. It's so, so untrue. But it's what everyone tells me I am, and what I try to convince myself every waking minute of every day (you were always the one that said,"Fake it 'til you make it,"), and what I should be, since I'm still here. But it simply isn't true.
Though, if you've been watching the aftermath of your departure, I'd guess you assumed that already.
Now that that's out of the way, let's continue, shall we?
I don't know how things work, where you are, but I like to think that you're in a good place: some kind of paradise, or safe haven, where you can't ever see or feel anything that could ever harm you in any way. I like to think that you're somewhere, when you're not watching me; and I hope that that somewhere is beautiful (( I'm an ass )). Because you deserve it, even after all you've done to me.
But that's okay. Because you didn't know you were doing it. You never knew, because I never tome you. I never even hinted at it. I'm sorry you know that now, as it contradicts what I said earlier - about hoping you're somewhere where no pain can be inflicted upon you - because I know that now that you know this, you're going feel fairly anguished.
But I promised the truth, and I am delivering.
Anyways, I feel like I should explain what it feels like, without you being here anymore. I should describe what it feels like, what I feel like every single second of every single day, even though I know I could never do it justice with just words. You'd have to experience it yourself, to fully understand - though by being gone against your will like this, I guess in a way, you do understand. You know what it's like, to be violently ripped away from those you love. I'm not sure you loved someone the same way I loved you, since you've never said a word about anything like that, but nonetheless, you loved, and the feeling was mutual.
More than you knew.
There are actually a lot of ways I could elaborate, when it comes to what it's like without you. I could be blunt, and say that it feels like my heart has been ripped out, but that isn't quite right; I'd be completely dead then. And if I were dead, I wouldn't have to miss you (for a variety of reasons).
I could say it feels like falling, falling down a deep, dark chasm, with no sight of the bottom, and no sight of the end of the pain of everything rushing by in a blur, yet still alert as to when it approaches, moving quickly and rapidly and certainly coming but with no way of knowing where or when. It seems fairly accurate, since the end sometimes sounds preferable than the tedious, almost monotonous feeling of falling, deeper down that dark road, but I'd still be fully alive in that instance. I'm still intact, completely whole, even if I may not stay that way forever.
No. It feels like one of my lungs has been incapacitated, damaged beyond repair, with no way of mending or replacing it. Not bout, just one: neither would imply that I was whole, with nothing that needed to be fixed, and both would imply that I was dead, or physically nearly there. But people can survive decently off of one lung, with the help of many contributions. They can walk around, living a fairly normal life - with some disadvantages - and other than their lungs, which are extremely vital and needed to live, they can function properly. Their heart still beats, their taste buds still taste, their eyes still see, their ears still hear. But they can't breathe the way they should, because one of the set is incapable of working the way it should, or is even completely gone, and in need of a transplant.
That's what it feels like. Without you here, I'm only living half the life I should, because I'm here and somewhat okay, but I'm not fully functioning, because one of the most important assets in my life isn't here the way it should be. It isn't alive, letting me depend wholly on it, like I used to.
It's just not the same.
And it never will be.
But that's okay. Because it isn't your fault you're gone. And you didn't know this would ever happen to me, because you didn't know it'd happen to you either. After all, there was no way of guessing that any of this would ever happen. We never would've guessed that you'd be long gone, and I'd be here, picking up the pieces, and just dropping even more with every step I take. We never knew that you'd be lost from us, lost from me, in the blink of an eye, in the time span of not even a second, and before I could ever tell you the depth of how much I actually cared about you. Who knew? (( Ha ))
After all, we all know it was my fault.
November 25, 2015:
For you,
I know what you're thinking, and no, I don't know why I torture myself by continuing to write to you. I don't know why I feel the need to do this, dragging out the inevitable, and bringing you back to reading over my shoulder to see all of the things that I could never dare to speak out loud at this point. It would solidify too much, making it evident, and there would be no way to take it back once it's out of my mouth.
But I need closure. Honest to God, I need closure. I need to cut off my ties, because that's what's expected of me at this point, after almost two weeks of your departure. I need to let you go, releasing you from my life, and finish my mourning of you.
Maybe I'd get more time if they knew the truth, too.
But that's okay. Because you're gone, and you're not coming back, and there's no way of even risking tears on this portion of the paper because I'm dried out, numb, and unable to even fathom pain at this point. Besides: I have to say goodbye.
Funny thing, irony. My song, for The Fault in our Stars, has a line like that. "I don't wanna say good bye, someone tell me why..." I sang that about a book, thinking it'd never happen to me, at least not for a long time.
I've never been more wrong.
But I have to let you go. Because there's no point in pulling you around with me, even though I know you're willingly watching me right now, hanging on to every word I'm saying/writing. Because there's no point in dragging a kite around when you know it will never fly again, even when the wind is blowing. Because, to put it simply, there is no point. Period.
But I don't want to let you go.
November 30, 2015
For you,
I love you.
Three words. Eight letters. Such a small thing, and mere combination of some of the letters of the alphabet. Yet, it is the biggest, most evident truth I know, rooted deep inside of me, and festering and growing more and more over time until it grew into something I couldn't control, and had no hope of ever extinguishing.
I loved you. I still do, even though there's nothing left to love, since you're gone. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you so much, so God damn much, that I couldn't even begin to describe just how much love I contain when it comes to you there is. It was infinite, ever growing, ever changing, and rapidly becoming something I could never hope to understand myself.
I just wish I could've told you that, before you left.
December 4, 2015
For you,
"I'm hanging up, before I say something stupid."
Those were your last words to me. As far as I know, those were your last words, period.
I don't even remember what we were talking about. It was some sort of argument we were having over the phone - I think it had to do with the growing distance between us, die to the fact that I'd been pushing him away ever since the realization of my feelings for Tyler - and he hung up, apparently having to leave, even though I knew he was just angry that we'd got into some stupid fight, when we were already not on the best of terms.
You went on a drive to cool your head, not aiming to go anywhere specific, but leaving nonetheless. You just needed to blow off some steam, and you thought a nice, easy drive would do just that. You left me fuming, wondering if you'd ever let me talk to you soon so that I could muster up an apology, since it was just an idiotic fight anyways. I figured it'd blow over, but I was still angry. Angry that I'd let things get to this. Angry that I'd let things spiral so far out of control that they led here. Angry that I could do nothing to stop what eventually happened.
I don't remember how I found out about what happened to you - it could've been Twitter, it could've been the news, it could've been one of our mutual friends calling me to break the news - but at some point after our phone call, you got into an accident. It was bad, far worse than any of us could've imagined, could've ever pictured involving someone we cared so deeply about, and just. Like. That.
You were gone.
According to the police, I was the last person you talked to, since you left your house right after my phone call, and I was the newest contact on your Recents list. I was the last person you ever spoke to, before you stopped speaking entirely. I was the last person you uttered a word to, before your voice ceased to exist. I was the last person you talked to, before you were wiped from this Earth completely, taking everything that made you you as you did so, and leaving us all with you, but without you. It was you, but you went here anymore. It was you, but you no longer existed, having disappeared, with no way of coming back.
You're dead, and it was all my fault.
Because you had to go out. Because you had to clear your head. Because I had to piss you off, therefore making you go for a drive, in which you'd never come back from. Because I had to stir something up that shouldn't have been stirred up, especially between us, and fuck things up completely, until you vanished altogether. I just had to fuck up.
I'm in love with you, and I'm the reason you're dead.
December 8, 2015:
For you,
I know you're still reading this. I know you're still watching me, despite all that I've told/written for you. I know you're still waiting this out, until I finish what I've started by writing all of this to you, and for me. I know you're still watching.
I still wonder if you'll always be watching.
I certainly hope not. You have no reason to stay around, after all I've done to you.
But whatever. I can't exactly make you go away, and you deserve to torment me with your presence anyways. I deserve to feel you always being here, even though you're not really here. At least, not the way I want you to be.
But that's okay. Because I'm okay. Because I wasn't the one that got mad enough to have to go out, when I'm already in a reckless mood, and end up crashing in a fatal mess, leaving everything behind before I could even realize what had happened. Because I'm alive, even when you're not.
Because apparently, this thought is supposed to make me okay.
Anyways, this is the part where I finally give a conclusion to these letters, and try to let you go, because that's not only what I'm supposed to do but what I have to do. I need to do this, no matter how much it hurts me, because I know you would've done the same, regardless of whether you were ever in love with me. Besides, I know this is what you've been waiting for, ever since you've left. I know you've been waiting for me to lay you to rest, and move on.
You should know that that's not going to happen. But I'm still going to try, because I know that's what you've wanted, ever since you've started reading this.
I love you. I always will. I loved the memories we shared, I loved the times we spent together, I loved the moments we lived in together. I even loved that kiss in Italy that was never meant to happen, despite how much of a tease that felt like to me at the time, giving me a dose of that type of relationship with you, and what it would be like. But most importantly, I loved you, just being you, living the life of Tyler Oakley, and being the best friend I never could've thought about having. I wish I could take back loving you, I do, and always will, but I promised the truth, and the truth is what you're going to get. Like I said earlier, I wished I'd never even met you, much less fallen for you, though I know it's too late for that now.
But that's okay. Because for the first time, when I say I'm okay, I'm fine with it being a lie. I'm embracing it, allowing it to be the truth, and accepting it for what it is, and what it will be.
I'm not okay, Tyler.
But you know full well, already.
In a way, it's because of you, but it's not your fault. Not at all. The blame belongs to me 100%, since I fell for you, and I'm the reason you're gone, even though I know you'd tell me otherwise. But it is, and you know it. You have to, since you never would've gotten in that car, had I not upset you.
So, once again, without further ado: I'm sorry.
But I think that you never even had to read this to know that much. I just needed to reiterate it, letting you know that I still am, and I always will be. And I want you to know that you're my biggest regret. I should've done so many things, and I should've not done so many things, and basically, I fucked up tremendously in every way possible, when it came to you.
I just wished you were still here. Even if you weren't with me, personally, I wished you were still here. And you would be, if you had never talked to me that day. And going further, you'd still be here if you had never met me.
So you see, I hope you understand why I'm no longer glad I said hi.
Goodbye, Tyler Oakley. Tilly. I hope that wherever you are, you get to eat pickles and bathe in ranch dressing. Best of luck.
Still with love,
Troye
Idek what this is but I was in a shitty mood all day so fuck it this ended up happening.
Um, yeah. I hate weddings. I hate periods. I hate the fact that my HS test involved no math whatsoever. I hate the fact that when I'm stressed or pissed off, I end up going on Twitter and getting EVEN MORE stressed/pissed off (that whole Troye thing was so stupid I could go on for ages) but whatever, Idek why I got moodier today than usual when I see shit like this.
And OH LOOK AT ME MY FIRST ANGSTY ONE-SHOT SOMEONE GIVE ME AN AWARD ;) ;) ;) (tbh I still don't know what this was its such a mess and I had no plot other than angsty vague dialogue at the beginning so sorry for killing off Tyler btw love you Ty)
So yeah. Consider this my way of venting, since I couldn't write happy shit for The Selection. Cheers.
∞Hope