Day 4. Forlorn Hope. (Letter #2).

As I sit on a bench on Duluth looking at people passing me by, it is impossible not to notice all the happy couples. Undoubtedly, there are other people as well but they are mere background noise, deemed unworthy of notice by my lovesick mind. The worst thing of all, though, is that you appear everywhere. We have not spoken since that dreadful night right before you left on your trip what was happening. Since then, it has become impossible not to think about you. Someone’s fleeting smile, a look over a shoulder… You are everywhere. Even though I know you are hundreds of miles away, every time my first thought is that you have come back. The forlorn hope, but that is what my existence has been reduced to. Like a soldier of old, I am throwing self unto the breach, hoping against all reason, that the prize will wait for me at the end. But all that I have is an empty burning pit in my stomach, and an image of you everywhere and in everything. In the all too short time we were together, you have become the one thing that made my world wonderful. You were the shining bright star in my dark cold the night and now that you are gone, I feel more lost than ever before. So now I must find myself and do it for real this time. Will you still be there? Will you be waiting for me at the other end of the tunnel? You won’t. You wouldn’t. This is the most important journey of my life and I must make it alone. A longing feeling: your gentle touch reaching out for me in the dark; just breeze ruffling the hairs on my hand. I wonder if you’ll ever see these writings? Will you understand? Becoming someone you could love and be proud of will take a lot of work. But will it have been for nought for you won’t be there in the end?

A damned fool! I fell so deeply for you and you didn’t even realise it. I would give everything for your kiss; to taste the sweetness of your lips, their gentle caress on my skin. I shall remember that feeling for as long as I live.

Alone. Lost. Adrift. I take the shallow breath and tread the water. Barely able to breathe, I amble toward a direction that I hope will lead to a wait out hoping that memory of you won’t weigh me down and take me under.

Day 2. A Cut Too Deep. (Letter #1).

After some heavy thinking I have done in the past week or so, I have come to realisation that I have no choice but to cut you out of my life. I’m sorry it has come to that but just being friends and hanging out with was never going to be enough for me. I care for you too much to be around you without being with you both because it would be too painful for me and because I would not want to poison you with my misery.
I wish things could have turned out differently. I wish hadn’t pushed you towards the arms of another. (Definitely wish I had’t arranged for the circumstances where you two met.) I wish I could have been what you wanted me to be. I am not. Perhaps with time I could have changed, likely would have, but it is too late now and you could not wait. I wish you could have given me more of a chance; I wish you would be willing to wait… You are like an untameable mustang, a force of your own. Unwilling to settle for anything less than you deserve, you cannot be with one who isn’t what you want. There’s no blame for you in this; but the end result is all the same: we must part ways for I cannot bear for it to be otherwise. I would never presume to tell you whom you can or cannot date. But if I cannot be with you than I cannot be around you knowing that you are with someone else, seeing you with someone else, someone better.
All I ever wanted was to hold you close, to be able to say I’m yours and to call you mine. Alas, that is not to be.
I realise now that I should have been more open with you about my emotional health issues and more truthful about the cause of my idiosyncrasies. Not to mention that I should have sought professional help a long time ago. But it was easier to fool myself that I’m stronger than the depression that has been slowly suffocating me for the 20+ years. I would start new hobbies and get obsessed with them and they gave me great outlets for relief of anxiety and depression but whenever I would be forced to be by myself they would spring back up. Things became harder and harder to deal with over time. Even cleaning my room became a task of Herculean proportions. I finally have reached he point where I realise that I cannot deal with it by myself. I will seek the help. “I’ll drop the cross of self-denial,” so to speak. Regretfully for us, it is all too late. Perhaps, once I’m better we may see if there’s still something there but I will not ask you to wait. I will not be this unfair to you.
I care oh so deeply for you, my dearest, dearest girl. ‘Til better times, perhaps.