i love you but i can't be with you

I woke up crying this morning. I cried a bit in the shower too. I had a dream last night where you were gone forever, and in the dream I knew we’d never talk again, and I felt this hole inside me, a dull ache that no medication could relieve. So I woke up crying, and I figure this is how you must have felt this past month, like you had a great emptiness inside you that could not be filled, like only I could fill it.

I went to Europe to see other people, to meet and date girls, and I have to be honest about that. I’m sorry. I know you think that’s cheating and I disagree, but if you want to think so and hate me for it, that’s okay — if it helps you get over me.

I wonder why I brought you that gift from Paris. Why I wanted to see you again when I got back. I told myself it was to give you closure, to make sure you were okay, but I think the truth is there is still a part of me that cannot let you go, that cannot imagine life without your voice, your touch, your presence.

I still have love for you. But I cannot be with you.

The Germans have two ways of saying I love you: there’s the straightforward ich liebe dich — ‘I love you’ in a romantic sense. Then there’s the friendlier, ich hab Lieb für dich, (I have love for you), which encompasses a familial love, a platonic love, one no less caring or intense than the romantic kind. R——, I still have love for you. But I don’t love you anymore, not the way you still love me.

I want you to move on. I want you to be okay. But how can you move on when I’m still right here, within reach? When you can just call and hear my voice? When you know I’ll be there whenever you need? You asked if we could still go to concerts together. I said maybe — I wanted to be friends. But I’ve been thinking about what’s best for you, and I think that means finding the person you should be with, someone who makes you laugh and feel secure, who wants the same thing as you: a love — a deep love — to last your whole life.

How can you find him if you’re still holding onto me?

We can’t be friends. We can’t call, we can’t talk. We can’t see each other again. I’m sorry. I know it hurts. I know you don’t understand (maybe one day you will) that this decision comes from a place of love. You have to let go of me. I’m not coming back. I never will.

You will, one day, find love, true love; you know God has a plan for you, he has someone in mind, and, inshallah, you will find him, and everything we had will pale in comparison. And you will realize you never needed me, that you’re way happier without me. And you’ll never shed a tear for me again.