I Told You You Would Leave Me

You were a late bloomer. A non-traditional student who still hadn’t started college yet. I was a graduate—already well past that stage, though little better for it. Time separated us like a bottomless valley. Life was a mountain I’d started climbing long before you had reached the foothills.

We were different. So far apart in so many ways. Yet, somehow, we clicked. In that perfect, seatbelt-snap, yin-and-yang kind of way. We were sweet and sour chicken. You were the sweet. And the sour. You were the flavor.

I was the chicken….

I miss your honesty. The warmth of your kindness. I miss the way you looked at me, the way your eyes made me feel whole for the first time in my life.

I told you you would leave me. I told you there was no way we could last. But… you didn’t want to listen to me. Didn’t want me to explain.

I only wish you had been more convincing….

You had so much ahead of you. New paths opened up, bright and broadening, while mine twisted like gnarled roots, already weathered with detours and difficulties. You were still becoming the person I always knew you would be—a butterfly in the making.

But you were wise for your age. You saw things I couldn’t see. Called me out on the carelessness of my words. Made me feel like an idiot.

And I was one.

You were upset when you realized I saw you as a caterpillar. As in, ‘not-yet-a-butterfly.’ Not even ‘cocooned’ yet. I don’t blame you for that. But maybe now, after all these years, you might finally agree with what I said.

I told you you would leave me. And that I wished it was not so. You’d cock your head, roll your anime eyes at me, and say, “You don’t know everything.”

You resented that I might know things you hadn’t learned yet. You’d argue that time would prove me wrong. That things might be different for you than they were for me. A fair argument, sure. But I doubted your conviction. I think you did, too.

For me, college wasn’t just about classes—it was about the experience. I told you I didn’t want to stand in the way of your growth. To negatively impact that developmental phase we all so desperately need at that stage and so futilely struggle against.

I told you you would leave me. That what we shared was too fragile to survive. I knew it would fall apart. But I hoped I was wrong. Not because our love was the strongest—though I’ve never felt for anyone what I once felt for you.

I built a tiny house for another. I would have built you a palace. A kingdom. No, a world!

A home….

I would’ve built a life. For us.

I told you you would leave me. That you would move on. But… you didn’t want to hear it. Even called me stupid.

Well, it’s been six years now since we’ve spoken—six years of me being right… Who knew it would hurt this much?

Half a decade of loneliness, and I can’t help but wonder at how harsh I was with you. The bluntness. The cynicism. The faithlessness in my own self-sabotaging words.

What did I do to you with those words? I wonder now. How heavy they must’ve felt. It was a pressure I put upon us. A burden that you were never meant to share. A crushing load for me to bear alone. Like a lead-filled chest on a pack mule’s back. Heavy. And worthless….

It’s been pulling me down even faster lately, down into the depths. Sinking me deeper and deeper into the fabricated quicksand of my life.

Drowning.

Gasping.

Dying.

Six years, it turns out, is a painful amount of time to go without breathing.

I told you you would leave me. And you did, eventually. But I didn’t realize that when you left, you would never come back. Worse, that you would forget me, too.

I didn’t think through what those words truly meant. At first, I thought they were just a warning. But now, I know. They were a prophecy—a prophecy I had carved into myself. And now I carry the ruins of it in my hollowed chest. I did this. Not you.

Me.

Sometimes, I wonder if this will always be my fate. And maybe I deserve it. For everything I’ve done, for everything I’ve said. My heart can’t be fixed. Every day, it cracks and splinters further, leaking more and more. I fear I am fast approaching the end…. Rock bottom. That very soon, I will have no love left to offer. I fear that I’m already running on empty.

I would immolate myself for a chance at your attention now. And yet, I worry that I would corrupt you. Curse you. That I would pull you down into my ashy embers and burn out the cucumber-coolness of your soul. Your snow-white smile would melt, and your ice-blue eyes would twinkle out forever.

So, instead, I wish only the best for you. And, I guess, though it pains me to say… I wish for you to have distance from me….

In my purest imagination, you are doing so much better now, and I am so happy to think of you as being happy.

I told you you would leave me. I just never thought you would forget me, too. And maybe that’s the worst part. But… it’s okay.

Because I remember you.

I remember the first time we really hung out. The ethereal, out-of-tune piano I played. That distant-ghost melody that made you cry. Then there was the beer pong match at my birthday party when you stood up for me against those assholes. You were fierce, like a lioness. Badass.

I always knew what we had was real. And I loved you for that. You made me believe in love in a way I never had before. You showed me how good and right it could feel.

I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’re happy. I hope your life is everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Because you deserve the best. I saw it in you from the very first time we met—your beautiful ‘butterfly’ potential.

But… I was wrong. We were right. And I led us to ruin.

Worst of all?

From the very beginning, I could see the end. Like the finish line in a foot race. Like the subject in a camera’s lens. I’d seen it. All of it; clear as day. And I believed it. I let myself believe it.

I told myself you were too good for me. I didn’t think you could hear me when I said it. Didn’t think you would understand. But you did, didn’t you? You heard me. You heard me, and you left….

And now, I’m the one who’s left. The only one remaining. And I can’t stop hearing those stupid words I always said. The ones that still echo, still cut. Still suffocate me.

I told you you would leave me….

I thought for sure you weren’t listening.