Letters You’ll Never Read III

It’s a sad day for a girl when she remembers a boy who left. It’s a sadder day for a girl that all this while she has covinced herself you were out of her thoughts, yet still I choose to use “you” not “him”. What truth can I deny? I sit here alone in the dark though daytime reigns in the skies, answering questions after questions. They say I’m too schematic, a perfectionist. Perhaps I am.

It’s almost too easy to call myself a mistake, in the hopes of an illusion of the man I believe is you. And yet still I try, I see, I believe. I know, deep inside, finding excuses for you isn’t just for you. I am tragic. Pathetic. A sore loser. When I lost you, I wanted it to be a loss. So that I could tell myself I had stayed for something that was worthwhile. An excuse for me as it is to you. Sad, isn’t it? Truly. Frankly.

But I am not one who can live in delusion. Though I hate myself for the meagre being that I am, though I owe you an apology for all that I was and what we had. You hurt me and that will never change. You hurt me beyond the wounds an enemy can cut, for you hurt me as the man I loved, the only man I loved. Be it a decade or two, or half a lifetime of mine, no time would be enough to carry away this scar you have caused. This bleeding will cease but its mark shan’t be lost through time.


Your first but not your last.

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