A Letter

This is a bit of a different style than my usual. This is an open letter, to express how I feel. Like a page in a diary, or paper crumpled in a waste basket. The kind of words that I would expect to carry to my casket.

I knew something was going on, but I couldn’t say what. I could feel the pull, but was stuck in my own rut. I felt a shift and the silence grew larger. Now it’s a rift and it’s that much harder.

I want you to know that people care. I want you to know that no matter what you’re going through, we’ll – I’ll – be there. I want you to know that whatever burdens you, you don’t have to go it alone. While perhaps the pain of what hurts you may have no cure, time with supportive people around you can help you endure.

With all that being said, I can’t help but feel that someway, somehow, I’m involved. I hope it isn’t, and that my own imagination is creating this cloud. But if it is, I don’t have the right words to say. The words just catch in my throat – even in poetry.

I could say I care about you – more than I “should.” I could say I wish it worked out – even though I know it never would. Because sometimes the right people meet at the wrong time. Sometimes we lie about being “fine.” Sometimes the deepest wounds don’t heal in time. But that’s okay – we learn to laugh and dance in the rain. We learn to find ourselves again. Maybe we’re never the same, but maybe we’re never meant to be that way.

If you think yourself a monster, well then, so am I. I played games too, and lost all I had left on the line.

I feel the need to write this – perhaps for you, for me, or for the space in between… I wish I could just sit across from you and look you in the eyes. To swim in the depths of your soul and come out alive. I might laugh, I might cry, I might sink into the deepest corners of my mind… I might be scared, terrified even, and try to leave your gaze. But I would want you to insist I stay.

It’s not your fault that you’ve become both my poison and my antidote. It’s not your fault that my mind, in its weakness, latched so much onto you. I have tried to rewrite and rewire, to cut cords, demolish and rebuild… But you’re embedded there. It all comes back to you. And it’s not fair, it’s not right, it’s not the kind of thing I want to burden you with. I’m sorry.

Ultimately all we – I – want is for you to be happy. I hope you’re doing alright. I’ve probably said too much (as I often do), but just please know that people care about you. More than you may know.

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