Before I leave again,
I’m going to talk to you again and pretend you’re there because there still lies a comfort in acknowledging that you’re there, even if I’m just pretending.
I found the last letter you ever gave me tonight, except I didn’t know it was the last letter because it was unopened in an envelope, stuck in the bottom of my shoebox where I’ve kept cards and notes from previous years as I was packing for school again. It was postmarked November 21st, 2013, almost a year ago. I sat back against the frame of the bed and looked at it - your name, your address, your handwriting with my name, my address, my apartment number. I wondered why I hadn’t opened the letter since I keep practically all handwritten things that have been given to me since high school. That’s when I realized that on that same week of the day the letter was sent, we broke up. In my head I already knew we were going to be broken up this week and didn’t so much as look at the letter you had sent. I simply dropped it into my box and decided it could wait for another time.
And now, it’s here, in front of me. Your words, your concerns, your thoughts, all spilling towards me. You tried so hard to make things work and even if they didn’t work you wanted things to end right at least. But I still couldn’t do that. To be honest, this letter is an old scab that picks at my own emotions but at the same time I can come to see it as a piece of solace, maybe even a bit of a comfort. Even in the end you cared, all the way up to the last word you wrote.
P.S. - Reply. Do not neglect my letter for homework, if possible
Nine months later, I did. It was too late by then to salvage anything, even friendship, but at least I could do what I’ve always held back in doing - tell you how I felt honestly for the first and last time. You were right in not waiting for me to reply and I’m glad you didn’t.
Thanks for everything - hope college is good to you.