To the You Who Thought I Was Just Restless
Dear You,
I used to think it was restlessness. That itch under my skin, the way I craved something more, something different, something that wasn’t… this. It didn’t make sense, did it? I loved Jules. I loved us. But some nights, I’d stare at our plans—her neat lists, the steps to our future laid out in bullet points—and I’d feel something heavy settle in my chest.
I told myself it was fear of change. I told myself it would pass. I even convinced myself that maybe I just needed a distraction—a new project, a new hobby, something to shake the monotony. But it wasn’t change I was afraid of.
It was the opposite.
I was afraid of standing still.
I wish I could explain it better. I wish I could tell you why the idea of settling down, of knowing exactly where we were headed, made me want to run. Maybe it was because, for the first time in my life, I wasn’t lost. Jules was my home, my anchor. And that should’ve been enough.
But somehow, it only made me feel more lost.
I didn’t want to leave. I just didn’t know how to stay without feeling like I was disappearing.
I hope you understand that now.
—Sam
It wasn’t about Jules. It wasn’t about love. It was about me. And I wish I had realized that sooner.
Dear You,
Do you remember the first time you felt it? That tiny, flickering thought you ignored. What if I don’t want this?
It wasn’t loud, not at first. It didn’t come in the middle of a fight or some dramatic realization. It was quiet, creeping in at the edges of perfect moments. Jules would talk about the future, about the places we’d live, the life we’d build, the way everything was falling into place. And I’d nod, smile, say all the right things.
But deep down, something in me hesitated.
I told myself I was overthinking, that I was just scared, that everyone feels uncertain sometimes. But then it kept happening. The small pauses. The forced enthusiasm. The weight in my chest every time we talked about forever.
And then one night, Jules caught me hesitating. Not outright, just a second too long before I agreed to something, my voice just a little too careful.
She didn’t say anything.
She just looked at me, eyes searching, lips pressed together like she was holding back a question she wasn’t ready to ask. And I smiled—too quickly, too easily—hoping she wouldn’t push.
She didn’t.
But the way she curled a little closer that night, the way her hand lingered on mine as if holding on, I think she knew.
And I hated myself for it.
—Sam
Loving someone and wanting the same future isn’t the same thing. I wish I had understood the difference before it was too late.
Dear You,
You kept telling yourself it was just a phase.
That the unease would pass, that you’d wake up one day and feel the same certainty Jules did. That maybe if you just tried harder, focused on the good, pushed down the doubt, it would disappear.
So, you did.
You threw yourself into the routine. Held Jules closer, kissed her longer, memorized the way she laughed and convinced yourself that was enough. You went along with every plan, every talk about our future, because saying I don’t know felt like betrayal.
And for a while, it worked.
Some days, you even believed it. Some days, the love drowned out the fear, and you let yourself think, Maybe this is all in my head.
But the thing about pretending is that it doesn’t last.
Doubt doesn’t just disappear because you ignore it. It lingers. It waits. And every time Jules dreamed out loud about your life together, something inside you still hesitated.
Still wondered.
Still wanted more.
And that—that was the part you couldn’t forgive yourself for.
Because more meant not this.
And that meant hurting her.
—Sam
Loving her should have made me certain. The fact that it didn’t should have told me everything.
Dear You,
You felt it in the quiet moments.
Not in the fights, not when you snapped at her for something small, not when you made up and convinced yourself it was fine. Not in the big, obvious cracks.
It was in the in-between.
When she reached for your hand, and for the first time, you hesitated. When she told you about an apartment near campus, and instead of excitement, you felt trapped. When she talked about forever, and your chest tightened, not with joy, but with something heavier.
You told yourself it was normal. That fear was just part of love. That everyone had moments of doubt.
But if that were true, why did yours never go away?
You weren’t restless, not really.
You were scared.
Scared that you weren’t built for the kind of love Jules needed. Scared that she was so sure, and you… weren’t.
Scared that if you let this go on, you’d wake up one day in the life she dreamed of and realize, too late, that it was never what you wanted.
—Sam
If I could go back, I’d ask myself one thing: Was I afraid of leaving her? Or was I afraid of who I’d be without her?
Dear You,
You thought love was supposed to be enough.
Even when you felt yourself pulling away, you held on. Even when you caught yourself staring at the horizon, at all the roads you hadn’t taken, you stayed where you were. Because you loved her. And love was supposed to be enough.
But love doesn’t erase doubt. It doesn’t silence the quiet voice in your head whispering, Is this it?
You wanted to want the future she saw for you both.
But you didn’t.
And maybe that should’ve been enough to stop you in your tracks. Maybe you should’ve told her, should’ve admitted the truth before it became something sharp, something that could cut you both open.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you kept holding onto something you weren’t sure you could keep.
And maybe if you had just said something sooner, you wouldn’t have spent so much time pretending.
Maybe.
—Sam
I was so afraid of breaking her heart, I didn’t realize I was already doing it.
Dear You,
I know you think you need to keep moving. That if you stop, even for a second, you’ll wake up one day and realize you’ve built a life that doesn’t feel like yours.
I wish I could tell you that feeling goes away.
But the truth is, I don’t know if it ever really does.
I do know this: running won’t save you. Leaving something good, someone good, just because you’re scared of standing still? That’s not the kind of freedom you think it is.
Maybe you were so scared of being trapped that you never stopped to ask yourself if you were already free.
And maybe, if you had, you wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to escape something that was never meant to hold you back in the first place.
With all the things you won’t understand until it’s too late,
—Sam
I wonder if I would’ve stayed if I had just said something sooner.
Maybe nothing would’ve changed.
Maybe everything would have.
But I didn’t say anything.
And so, we’ll never really know.