I'm going to call you girl because using your name would be a little too revealing for what I'm about to write. Well, perhaps even using girl is a little too revealing. Whatever, no time to dwell because I've already picked up my pen and I've started writing. I might as well finish what I started. Which, as you said, I always had trouble doing.
There have been months that have droned on between the times I thought of you. But for some reason, today, I have decided that I'm sick of pretending. What am I pretending exactly? Well...I'm still trying to figure that out. Maybe this is a way for me to externalize the visceral feeling of you that takes hold of me every now and then.
No, I'm not saying that you should leave your husband. That's preposterous and not what I want at all. Instead, I just want some clarity. Perhaps in the form of writing a cathartic letter. And this letter, everyone else can see but you.
I remember the day we met. You were shorter than me (you still are), and you looked up at me like I hung the stars. I don't know what you saw in me. I'm a mess. I've always been a mess.
We found commonalities in our favourite songs and our shared responsibility to hide from what we truly are. Which was in love. Maybe I didn't know it at the time. I'm still confused about it now, but I don't think I'd be writing you this letter 6 years later if there were absolutely nothing between us.
We held hands sometimes. We shared smiles. We recommended each other lyrics that when listened to would make our hearts soar and clench at the same time, for something we could never have and would always want.
You always told me you wanted to get married after high school to a good boy that could see you for who you really were. And the first time you said that I was sitting on your lap, seeing more clearly than anyone ever could. I was trying not to drown in your hypocrisy as you pulled me under like a tide.
I had no right to blame you for wanting something I could never provide. I was busy swooning over some asshole that would break my heart in a few months. (He's not an asshole, I'm just mad.)
Hm. Now that this letter is coming to an end, I'm not sure it helped much, but at least it's out of me instead of clanging around in my skull. It's just about of a mess as I am. Regardless, I hope that this letter gets across all the feelings of sadness, love, yearning, and loss that I could possibly conjure.
Sadness, that we were never destined to work.
Love, that simultaneously blessed and cursed us both.
Yearning, that had convinced me of a fantasy
And loss, when the ugly truth had torn us apart.
In the end, I had to accept my fate for us both.
I'll just end this letter with the same words you gave me years ago. Words that I still hold onto.
In another world, I will be...