The biggest list of "nots" had to be cut down a little..

You are not Tim.

This one is hard to feel much sadness about.

You aren’t raised eyebrows and hip nudges. You aren’t the weirdest beard-grower I’ve ever seen. You are not confident hands and deceitful lips. You aren’t perfect underwater kisses.

But please be manly enough to make me feel protected and confident enough to give me space to feel independent.

My official high school sweetheart

You are not Jacob.

At least not how he—how we—ended up.

You aren’t ever-changing hairstyles and big brown eyes. You are not fearful to confess how you feel about me.  You aren’t revealed to be clenched hands and ignorant screams telling me to get over it. You aren’t falling asleep together on the way home.

 But hopefully you are (and stay) goofy smiles and patient hands, warm and welcoming arms, a thousand moments spent holding each other because there was nothing else to hold onto, someone who has my complete and utter trust. 

The fantastically unimportant boys who are getting lumped together

You are not Will.

Which is only the slightest bit disappointing, because he was the best kisser out of all the boys I’ve dated..

You aren’t awkward poetry and extra-large checkered t-shirts. You are not words dividing me from my best friend. You are not cherry chap stick and lingering hands. You aren’t hidden make out spots and overpowering sickly sweet cologne.

But it’d be nice if you were an okay kisser ;)

You are not Chan.

Thank the heavens.

You aren’t my biggest crush since 6^th grade, finally realized in my sophomore year of high school.

You are not a too-easy smile and silky black hair. You aren’t effortless temptations. You are not an intrusive tongue or eager hands.

But if you wanted, you could still be charming.

You are not David.

You are not a two month fling, a challenge of sorts.

You are not a bad speller with pierced ears and a longboard. You won’t go on to date my best friend (uhh I hope?). You aren’t papers folded into hearts of all sizes and varieties. You aren’t old spice body wash and unsure hands. You aren’t lazy afternoon water polo practices spent bumping knees and laughing.

But it’d be great if you had rock hard abs were sweet to a fault. 

Reiterating the obvious yet important

You are not Ian.

Wrestling with this statement for years, feeling complete elation and total devastation over it, doesn’t change its truth.

You aren’t perfect hair and sunglasses. You aren’t pushy hands. You aren’t plucked guitar strings and cube cars. You aren’t cleverly worded sentences that draw me away from my religion. You aren’t stolen kisses in the band room and notes dropped into my locker. You are not sighs of disgust in bed and a deep musky scent . You aren’t snug white t-shirts and deft fingers.

You are not my first love, but I hope we’re so in love with each other that it feels like the first time.

When six hours somehow resolves five years of hell

For reasons that I can’t explain, Ian called me this week.

For reasons don’t even want to think about, I picked up.

It was a six hour conversation. I’m not kidding.

Essentially he wanted to try again. He claimed to be reformed. He promised to ask permission every time before he touched me even a little, even to hold my hand.

We had a mini conversation about love languages because he realized now that people need to be loved differently. His main love language was physical touch. He scored a 9/12.

I scored a 0/12 in that category.

He straight up told me he still loves me.

I told him how I reported him and what happened to the police.

He didn’t take it so well. He started hyperventilating and having an anxiety attack on the phone. I stayed on the phone with him for an hour after, because I know anxiety, and I know better than to leave someone in the middle of an attack. I tried to help.

He was just going back and forth between crying and saying he was so scared and then telling me how perfect I was and that he was so grateful to “have me” and then just crying more.

It scared me. The Ian I fell in love with was so emotionally steady. It was terrifying to see him lose it. It made me realize that he did, and probably still does, lose control in other ways too.

It finally changed how I see him. It’s always been this awful mix between fearing him and being in love with him, romanticizing him into someone incapable of making mistakes and generalizing him as a monster who destroys everything.

He’s just unstable.

He’s good and bad, he’s loving and manipulating, he’s human.

But he’s a particularly unstable human.

I don’t love him anymore. But I don’t hate him anymore either. I think mostly I just pity him.

It’s been five long years, but I feel like I’ve finally gotten some closure. I don’t think I need to keep him on Facebook anymore. I don’t think I need his box of letters anymore. I’m not going back there, back to him.

I have no desire to go back to him.

Absolutely none.

It’s a freaking miracle. Seriously.

I’m trying to be careful with my heart now, now that it’s free from him, now that it’s mine again. But I want so badly to give it to you.

Please hurry up and know that I love you.