I don’t know how long these letters will continue, but I wish I could stop. Today was easier than yesterday, but the second I left work, the tears of frustration began. I don’t want to think about what you’re doing, where you’re going, who you’re with. Because all of those plans should involve me.
And instead, because I was so afraid to take a big leap of faith and just trust in us, I’m left here to deal with my own mess. I have no fight left in me. I have a free pass while this thing finally ends to engage in whatever activities I want. Knowing he’s at peace with it, has finally let me go and won’t be angry with me for those decisions, is what I needed. I can’t go back in time, when you were still here, and tell him about us, but if I had, I could have opened up to you the way you wanted.
My biggest fear became a reality. I predicted a week or two after you left, we’d still talk, but then you’d find the girl of your dreams. It took less than a day of you being gone to realize you’d checked out far sooner than I’d known. And of course you’d move on.
All this history we had together, these varying seasons of our lives. How we always found our way back to each other, you taking the charge, and it was all for nothing. How could I have been so fucking wrong? After all the times you tried, how could have you thrown in the towel so easily? Why couldn’t you see deep down what was trapped within me?
I thought I’d never hear from you again after we split ways in college. I regret that conversation, now more than ever. But you came back. Please come back again. And don’t go. Please.