Letter #2 – Dear R.

Dear R.,

I found out some news today, a kind of significant piece of information that seems it would have come best if you’ve delivered it yourself. I think I understand why she did it, though. She was able to sense something perhaps you could not.

I felt my heart crack a little in that instant, had to close my eyes and shield myself from seeing physical evidence of what I’d already come to suspect. 

It seemed there were some moments between us, where I wondered if maybe there was the slightest chance the feelings I had begun to develop for you might be returned. Despite the obstacles in the way, despite the decade lost between us, despite it all.

The questions you asked me as you studied me from across the table, as if you might be gauging if I were a good fit, if you might be considering what I’d never admit aloud. Especially to you. Because it seemed a foolish pursuit. But maybe it wasn’t after all, maybe that was the last chance I was given.

Yet every time without hesitation I presented you with an invitation, you said yes. Though we seem as if we could have nothing in common, we are woven together with the same seams. Perhaps this was wishful thinking on my part, someone left with half a beating heart. 

Still, the question I’ll never ask is why didn’t you tell me about her?

So I’ll sit here and keep my silence, because it’s all I am meant to do.

This is her love story. Not mine. Never mine.

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