five minutes.

It is so strange thinking about him these days. All he is to me now is a series of lessons learned. His face is no longer concrete, the way we laughed feels so forced from so long ago; I strain to remember the jokes we told. It doesn't hurt because it feels like it never happened, which I suppose hurts in theory. The truth is, I fell out of love long ago. Probably the moment that I attained my romantic vision. I was like Gatsby, moving forward so quickly that all I knew how to do was look back. It was innocent and naive. Of course, I feel that because of that, he has a right to hate me. I was the girl who didn't know what she wanted. But how can you blame me? It wasn't my fault. You really never know what you want. It was awful circumstances, terrible confusion, youth leading youth, directionless.

After watching All the Real Girls last night, I couldn't help but see myself in that movie. "I don't know what I'm doing." You think you know what happiness is. Then you see the world, meet new people, and realize that happiness is not a checkbox for "yes" or "no." There are gradations and categories, a million kinds of happiness. I think I am happy now solely because I know this.

One day I may return to thoughts of him. They may feel real again, feel like they happened to me and not some stupid little girl. For now, he's two or three lifetimes away, a sleeping memory that feels like I something I read as an adolescent. Did it mean anything at all? Or was it just a diversion? At the very least (and he'd hate me for saying this), he taught me so much. Now I am able to see outside myself, look at myself critically, and examine why I do the things I do. Then I am able to correct them.

This new guy takes that one step further. He draws me out and makes me feel like an independent, free-thinking person again. I don't feel as shy. I feel like my words, my opinions have consequence. Because of this, I feel like I want to experience a thousand new experiences, big and small. New York, Chicago, Silver Lake, quiet dinners in the dark, movies, new books, driving far far away. I see everything through new eyes.

And, believe me, I feel terrible for what I did to him. As he sees it, I wasted three years of his life. But I spent seven years of my own wondering what if with him. Even when it was it was what if. Still, I don't think that was wasted time. I think he used me as a crutch to stop his loneliness. I used him as a crutch to keep myself from discovering who I am - because that process is dark and scary. My only hope for him is that he finds happiness. I want him to find someone who can cater to his needs without putting as much effort into it as I had to. I want him to find someone funny and cute and not too smart (because I'm not sure he can handle smart smart) and sexy and sure of herself and ready to be there for him. That person is not me. It never was (not to say I am not some of those things). More than anything else, I do not want to have destroyed his faith in love. I hope I didn't do that to him. My ending our relationship was my hope that he could find love, not someone to falsely idealize and delude. I believe one day he will.

Until then, I will be waiting. Until then, I will be trying in vain to make a memory out of something that feels like it was never my own.