Last Bathroom Letter To You
I’m in the bathroom at Tacolicious as I write this in my head. I’m hovering above the toilet bowl as I think of you and empty my bladder. The last time I was here was 10 months ago. It’s the Tacolicious on Valencia where you and I ate on New Year’s Day a week or so after that big thing that changed us. Having just emerged from an event that will forever mark time in our lives, I was with hope and quiet sadness celebrating the turning of the calendar that day. A fresh set of 12 months lay wide open and ready for me to fuck up in a wholly new and unique way. The thought was mildly comforting. We ate outside around the table with Leo. Remember, it was here that we decided that after we finished the queso we’d drive to IKEA and buy bowls to eat take-out ramen from and shelves we’d never hang? You. So attentive. Later that night you assembled Swedish kitchen furniture while I curled up with a book on your couch and snuck peeks while you swore at the pieces of wood in your black jeans and we burned that teakwood candle that you insisted smelled like apple pie. Our lives fusing; taking shape.
I was watching La La Land yesterday and I had a feeling of nostalgia pass over. Watching their relationship unfold and then collapse felt close. And then there she is at the end – watching him play at his jazz club with the man she ended up marrying next to her. And the what ifs scroll of what their life could have been, but isn’t. And from all we can tell she’s happy and content and has a child and wealth, so should we really feel so sad?
I’ve been on a few dates over the last 3 weeks and gone through the motions of flirtatious text communication like you and I used to do. I’ve been out with the sort of men you and I might have made fun of or felt sorry for or maybe just been jealous of. They’re wealthy and successful in a traditional, obvious sense. Which as you know, is never anything I’ve had much interest for.
However we both know I’m in no shape to be seriously considering anyone or involving myself in anything physical. So it’s been a no man’s land dance going nowhere. But a distraction.
I could say I’m not ready or that I’m scared or just not that into any of them. But those are half-truths. I think a wholer truth links back to La La Land. It goes back to the fact that you and I were by no means perfect. We were quite flawed – separate and together. And sometimes that was like fuel on a fire. And we have some growing to do, no?
But we had a universe, you and I. We did, didn’t we? We had our world. So I find myself lately content enough with my immediate life around me, but seeing it from a lens that I used to share with you. And missing your piece in my puzzle in the process. No one’s ever quite understood me like you. Taught me more about myself. Called me out on my bullshit. Been so trustworthy. Done the best you could. You could read my mind. And I miss you like a phantom limb some days.
And then I come back to myself. And I remember. I remember all the days and nights and weeks turned months apologizing. Spent shrinking to fit myself into what you deemed acceptable, not needy, okay, enough, not too much.
I come back to myself. My own hands have been here all along, I’ve just lost my way for awhile. Instead, I’d made a conscious turn into your mouth; actively choosing to be chewed and spit back out. In contrast t’s so nice to meet me again that the highs I felt with you can’t compare. There’s a freedom in my bones that was never afforded in the confines of you.
So with love and a quiet smile, I hope you find what you’re looking for. I hope you turn over your broken parts and examine them until you’re ready to thoughtfully piece it back together. And I hope you do it in a space that moves you. For you. Alone.
I know we’ll both heal and have our own moment of seeing each other through new lenses with new loves by our sides. And maybe it will or maybe it won’t be as poignant as our own little La La Land finale scene. Maybe it will just be normal and right.
In the meantime, goodbye.