January 1 2013
To: Keyell Longue
I don't know what motivated me to try to write to you. I don't know why, there is no reason. So don't ask me. Oh, damn, ask me. Ask me. Write back, Key, press your pen against the paper and send it to me. Let me cherish your words and the smell of your perfume still lingering on the one piece of solace you offered me. Let me finger the small dents made by the pen, wondering if you had done the same, seeking comfort in the fact that your touch is, indirectly, once again on my skin, so light yet undeniably present.
But we're supposed to let go, right? Can you? Because I know that I can't. I can never forget, I will never forget and I'll be damned if I ever do. Does that sound familiar? It's what you said to me, one night, aeons ago. Maybe you don't, but I do. I remember every whisper, every word breathed out into the fragile air.
It hurts. That much I'll tell you, although I think you already know. But that's not what worries me, distresses me until I find myself waking every night, calling out your name, yearning for you despite the distance between us that is not only physical but so painfully emotional. No, what I fear is that you have forgotten, not about me, really – that would be improbable- but about the love that exists between us, that once entwined us together, so much so that our heartbeats were synchronised, beating together as one. The love that you unhesitatingly ripped out of me, leaving me hollow and off-beat, as if I was so accustomed to you being part of me that when you were gone, I had no idea who I even was.
But I'm rambling. It was the one thing that you hated- you used to roll your eyes every time you heard me doing so- when you were her, or so I presumed. What else didn't I notice? What else repulsed you so much that you left me after six years?
All I want to know is why. I really need an answer to that, and maybe that's why I wrote to you. You don't need to answer, because even if it kills me, I don't want you to suffer. And even if I never understand it, I can accept it. I want you to know that.
If I had the chance to get you back, we would never be like we were three weeks ago, for what is glued back together will never be what is whole. Three weeks ago, we made small talk, cracked jokes, did everything that we're not doing now, not because we had nothing else to talk about but because we knew each other so well that even small talk was significant.
I realise now that I was mistaken.
The question of why this happened will linger forever in my mind but are you willing to pick this up? Make this better?
I am. Gosh, I am.
I can never forget, will never forget and I'll be damned if I ever do.