The Other Side

Dear future me,

You can still only sleep on one side of the bed.

Nothing physical is stopping you from rolling over. It’s completely mental, in more ways than one. There’s no one in particular you’re waiting for to occupy said space either. It’s just an empty space.

A space that represents a whole lot. It represents the person you are today, because you want that space to be filled one day by a human being who is  a real life person who you truly enjoy being with…but you don’t need that space filled.

…Last night you didn’t feel that way, though. In fact for the same 20 minutes every night you are doubtful. Those 20 minutes right before you fall asleep. You can’t help but realize what you’re doing and it’s inherently depressing, but then you fall asleep, wake up, and you’re fine once more. The cliché thought that always runs through your mind in those twenty minutes without fail is, “I’m waiting for my other half.” But that’s bull shit.

Waiting for your other half is admitting you’re not whole. You’re at the point in your life where you’re pretty much the human being you’re going to be forever. Your belief system and moral code are solidified, and in all honesty I think you can tell the world you’re happy with how you’ve turned out. Now, you still make mistakes, but you can’t not learn from them anymore. It’s not within you to let your own mistakes slide. You tell yourself that during those 20 minutes. You like yourself. You like who you are. You don’t need someone else to fulfill the Disney induced pipe dream that you need to be with someone to make you happy.

Don’t get me wrong here though: this is your fault, and you know it is. The other side of that bed isn’t empty because the world is against you. The other side is empty because you keep it that way. You do this to yourself. You want the feeling of making someone else’s life better for no other reasons other than they are doing the same for you, but you think the only way to win the game is by complete chance. Well I have a news flash for you, it’s not. Chance is a roll of the dice, but the dice won’t tell you shit if you keep them in your pocket. That empty space is a constant reminder of your failure, but you can’t seem to roll over, and I’m not sure you ever will.

Just remember though, and I genuinely mean this: when that space is filled and it’s the easiest thing in the world to comprehend why, that feeling will make you forget you ever even wrote this note. That feeling will consume you, for better or for worse. You know the feeling I’m taking about too, and it’s not being whole…it’s knowing that you’ve been whole this entire time.

Sincerely,

Past You.

PS: Go grocery shopping, I’m starving.

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