I haven’t really talked about personal things too much.
I had a boyfriend. He was helping me through a hard time and I was getting better a little but he wasn’t happy. He didn’t want a sick girlfriend, he didn’t want the things I wanted for my future, he didn’t … a lot of things.
And I wasn’t the one. I wasn’t the right woman for a lot of reasons. And I wish I was.
I know I can’t change for him. I know I don’t want him to change for me, not really. I want him to be happy. I want him to make the most of his life. I want to make the most of my life. I want to be healthy. I want to be happy. I want to make a positive impact in my space in the world.
And I can … but … not beside him.
And yes, I still wish I was the one.
I’m not.
I am going to have remind myself that at night when I go to sleep, in the hopes my dreams won’t betray me with false hope.
I am going to have to remind myself when I wake up, so I start living my life for myself — all alone.
But the truth is, that wishing, even as hard as I can and have been, won’t change anything — I am not the one. Whoever she is, however she is, it doesn’t matter, because I am not her and I never could be her. I can’t wish this one true. The one isn’t me.
And I have to let go. Let go of him.
And let go of my wish.
After all, it is what he wanted.
