You screwed me over. You fucked up. I stood by you until it was impossible to do so anymore. It’s my fault though, right? I knew what I was getting into, right? Well, I guess you weren’t wrong about that. I loved you even when it wasn’t beneficial for me to do so. I let my spirit diminish so yours could shine. I bottled up my pain, saving space for yours as well. Now all I have left inside are the decayed crumbs of my heart.
My stomach flutters thinking of your stupid grin. I still find myself twisting and turning at 3 am thinking about those caramel milkshakes we’d share, about our spot near the glass lake where our lips first met. All these minute things, they still hold a special place within me. Maybe that’s why I stayed so long. Maybe it’s why I allowed myself to spend countless nights letting my hot tears stain my pillowcase.
I should be happy I suppose, you’re no longer my burden. The hardest part of all this is that my body still feels weighed down by your lingering demons. I despise myself for giving you every good part of me I had to offer, but I’ve come to learn good deeds aren’t always repaid. It’s a classic story, the saint getting burned by the sinner, still offering a helping hand while engulfed in the scorching flames. That’s why Saints are named as such.
I can’t say I’m a saint. I know I’ve done my wrongs. I’ve broken hearts, some that were undeserving. Loving is hard. It requires a sort of emotional depth many find to be unreachable. Humans are so very flawed, yet we decide to look for another to fix the broken mess that lays within.
I could see that from you, all the broken bits you held inside, the shards protruding from your skin. I held you in my arms, licking your wounds, ignoring the sharp edges that grazed me in the process.
It’s hard to just forget the pain you’ve caused. I’ve always struggled with letting go. We weren’t a match made in heaven, but I’d like to believe that fate, or god, or whoever breathed life into us put us together for some reason. I’d like to think the moon and the stars aligned perfectly the night we met, that angels cried or that the ocean danced for us, but I know that’s far from actuality. I can’t say I regret it all, but I know next time has to be different. I’ll swallow my pride and wish you all the best, not that it matters though. This letter will be ripped into shreds and thrown into my fireplace by the end of the night.
To be honest I’m glad you’ll never see this. I want your last image of me to remain the same from the final time we spoke. Warm and forgiving. I don’t want you to feel guilt. I couldn’t allow the weight of my pain to afflict you, so I’ll continue carrying it in silence. It’s all for the best.