The Scar Collector

I have nothing. I’m sorry. I’m no one, and I never will be. What I said, it was real. Who I am is not. I always lose, and I can’t make anyone happy, especially not myself. Losing myself in the moment is all I have left. Though I’ve lived my life, all of it, faking it. Faking my life, who I am, what I am. It’s unfair for you to inherit that damage. It’s unfair that I have let us imagine that we could be happy together.
I had grown to love you, I think far more than I intended. Far more than I thought possible. I don’t know how to change it, I never have. Instead, I collect these wounds. I hope you never do. I hope you never have to compromise who you are with who you’re supposed to be. I hope you find happiness and love, and meaning in warm hands that can touch you, and can love you, and caress you. I hope the same hands are strong to protect you, to embrace you and determined to make your dreams come true. Someone real.
My head spins. Both with jealousy, with envy, but I think that what crushes me most is that I’m incapable of giving you what doesn’t exist. I only exist for you. Without you I cannot be. I cannot be. I will let you go, knowing that I have no choice. Knowing that I have no say, except to let you go, to love you by letting you be happy and letting you live your life; though I wish I could fight, I wish I could challenge, I know it will not be for your happiness, but mine.
I will return again to that place that I had hoped I had left forever. I’ll be prisoner again to my own fantasies. Indulging, dreaming, addicted to feeling nothing, trapped with no one but myself and my cowardice, my lies and my cynicism.
I hate loving. I hate it. I hate falling in love. I knew this would happen. I expected it, though I’m not sorry. I never was sorry that I loved you. It happens every time. I’m glad at least that you showed me another way to see myself; happy. Without you I would never know the difference. This time, with you it’s different. With you, I knew what I was doing, and I knew this day would hurt, and I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid to say that I’ll love you, that I’ll live on without your love. It will hurt, but it was worth it.
I teared up, yes I did. And it was surprising to me to find my cheeks wet. I started to see you in everything, wondering what it would be like. Though I understand, perhaps things were too real, perhaps things were too serious, and I know that I am too intense. I am embarrassed, ashamed even, that I pushed you away, or that I was awkward. I have to resign myself to my fate; a fate that someone else obviously has in store for me.
I don’t expect anyone to understand, not even you, that I’m happy to let you go, that I’m happy you could find someone else, that I’m happy for you; though with a smile, I’ll wear the scar you gave me; I’ll wear it proudly, I’ll wear it in your honor.