“Most of the emotional roadblocks, difficulties, and experiences in life have been after the fact, sort of dealing with the what was and now I’m dealing with the what is.”
Fiction. Based on a True Love Letter Unsent.
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character, or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255.
You used to compare me to the Moon. I’m not sure why you thought I was that beautiful. I’ve been called many things: confused, disappointment, bitch, heretic, whore. But you were always kind. With a single word, you could calm the storm in my heart and quiet the screams in my mind. With a single touch from you, the world became still.
You used to compare me to the Moon. I don’t know why you would compare me to something so beautiful.
We danced on your patio that evening. The sun was low in the sky and the humidity stuck to our skin like honey. Our friends sat around the table nearby; I paid them no notice. You took my hands and pulled me into a dance with no music. You held me so close, safe and sound, against your body. I laughed.
After a few blissful moments, I noticed one of our friends at the time watching us. He had a look in his eyes I had never seen before: a hunger, a craving, lust. A look men get in their eye when they see something they want. Two women dancing, falling in love, turned him on that summer day. I held you tighter and you smiled. But I was afraid.
You used to compare me to the Moon, hiding a part of myself from the world and from me. I feared you. I feared what you would do to me. There was never such destruction so radiant, beautiful, and slow. You took your time with me.
We decided to watch a movie on the couch one day. For some strange reason, you selected Iron Man 3; the most romantic movie I had on the shelf. You never liked chick-flicks; romantic movies to you involved Robert Downey Jr looking roguishly handsome while fighting a horribly written villain. I guessed that we’d watch Die Hard during Christmas in a few months time.
You curled up next me on the couch, a blanket was thrown over us and your head resting on my shoulder. Every muscle in my body tensed initially. I wasn’t used to human touch. I was a walking paradox – a human who craved touch but retreated from it. Like the wonderful person you are, you were gentle with me, patient and respectful.
I can’t watch an Iron Man movie without thinking of you (including Spiderman Homecoming because, let’s face it, the movie is practically Iron Man 4). The possibility of losing Tony Stark was like losing you all over again.
I fucked up. I found it hard to breathe with you and it wasn’t your fault. You were fire and I was ice. They don’t mix; they clash like moths in the night, alive in the darkness and asleep in the light.
This is second-hand news.
“Everybody wants a happy ending, right? But it doesn’t always roll that way.” Tony said in one of the movies. I can’t remember which one.
I think I lost touch with reality with you. You called me beautiful, love, darling, and compared me to the Moon. You spelled demon with an ‘a’ and always searched for the Good in everyone you met. I remember you loved to drive when we went out, taking the beautiful scenic routes that were hidden in plain sight. This little State finally looked beautiful.
Whereas now this place is haunted. Or I am and won’t admit it. I left for London a few months after you left. I forgot about you there; I found a part of me, the dark side of the Moon you tried to shine a light on. I took refuge from you in the city.
That didn’t last long because I returned to this haunted State across the pond knowing you would never knock on my door. I left my happy ending in London.
You and I? It was summer love not meant to last.