I Miss the Real You

Look,

I know we haven't known each other for very long and there are plenty of people who know you far better than I do. But don't you go telling me not to worry or that you're just fine cause I know you well enough to know that you're not. Something's off. Something's wrong.

And just because I don't know what it is or how I can help doesn't mean I don't care. You keep using excuses like you're working or you're busy with something but I've been around you before when you're working or your busy with something and it's different. You were happier, more willing to engage with others, with me. You'd share stories with us (you always have the best stories) or you'd be willing to weigh in on a crucial debate (like who is the best Batman villain if you exclude the Joker). Now you've become introspective, isolated. You've cut yourself off from everything around you and have become morose and melancholy. I'm worried about you, love. And don't tell me not to worry. I can't help it. I care about you, goddamnit. And I want to help, if you'd just let me in.

What makes me so worried is because this isn't the guy I know. When I first met you, you were so honest, so open about who you were. It was refreshing. Now you're closed off, not letting anyone in. What happened? What changed? I know that drive home was only one night but you've been honest and open with me since then.

I hope you know you've been one of the things I look forward to every day. I look forward to talking with you, to you making me laugh or smile. And now when I see you, it breaks my heart because I know you're hurting and I don't know how to help. I can't keep asking questions knowing I'll keep getting the same answers. And I can't keep buying you bottles, hoping that you'll figure a way out of your melancholy on your own. If you don't want me to help, that's fine. I get it. But please, let someone in long enough to help.

I miss you, the real you.

Love you.
Mean it.