June Lake, WA
I don't think you actually want to hear from me.
But I don't believe that you don't care what I have to say.
I have been thinking of you often and the last time we spoke. I was drunk and don't really remember. The only memory I have left is the absence of you.
Things are different now, I know that. Except for what I'm about to say in this letter. I'll die knowing that I put these words out there for you to hear.
I'm trying to respect the fact that you have reasons for me to disappear. This truth has been difficult to accept. I feel that we aren't done. But I can't help to wonder, what if we are? Perhaps we'll go on the rest of our lives without saying another word to each other. Perhaps I won't express anything enough to anyone in my lifetime.
But who am I to think that I am anything to you at all? You shaped who I am, yes, you had a great say in the kind of person I became. Where was I to do that for you?
I was occupied, taking apart your pieces like a 5 year old cripples Lego Men across the carpet. When a child has learned not to share with the others who leave them a mess to clean, they have learned better.
But I didn't expect you to go. To actually go. As long as you were in my life, you would be it. It would always come back to you.
How naive I must have sounded; in my thoughts, my dreams. In my loss, in my sorrow. You pitied me.
But I am still not sorry, for who I was, or that I hurt you. I'm not sorry for the runaway, the icy bridge flurry, or the taste of cheap red wine across your lips like sugar. I'm not sorry for the salty breeze at 2am, for the headlights and stringy hair. Nor for the laughter in the backseat, vows written across a steamy windshield.
Love is not a fairytale. Love is something to make work out of. Love is putting yourself towards it all. Love is truth. You taught me this, and for all of this, I am not sorry.
I love you.