I am writing to tell you that I am giving up.
It’s not that I have stopped loving you. No, that can’t be further from the truth.
And it’s not that I have found another – how could I when I still search for you in the eyes of strangers?
It’s just that I am tired of being tethered to my phone; hate that it becomes an instrument of torture when you do not call.
Tired of second guessing your intentions, wondering about your whereabouts and making excuses for your fear of commitment.
Tired of equating you to oxygen while I am being waterboarded by your absence and nonchalance.
I tried so hard to be geographically relevant to you.
I read all your favourite books, watched the movies that you love so that I would have something witty and intelligent to say to you.
I was a loyal spectator of your secondhand experiences seen through endless loops of your Instagram stories,
but no matter how hard I tried, there were always gaps in the reality that I try to piece together because I only have those pathetic 140 characters of your tweets.
And you can’t keep a love alive with merely jpegs and descriptions of what I am wearing right now.
And I deserve the kind of love that does not make me feel like my tongue is tiptoeing on a tightrope,
the kind of love that doesn’t demand me to prove my worth or sit in anxiety,
the kind of love that you would and could never give to me.
I tried but I am tired. And I don’t want to try anymore.
Perhaps one day you would change your mind about us and perhaps that day would come tomorrow or the day after,
but I have had that hope for far too many yesterdays to believe that still.
So darling, please understand that this is not goodbye. This is a surrender.
With a planet heavy heart, goodbye.