What we had was a nostalgia. But nostalgias never last. I know it was the same for you. We had fun in the short time we had together, but it was the same feeling we have when you play that dusty Monopoly for the first time in years or when you visit our grandmother and she cooks for you. The magic just doesn’t last.
Your place is still there, well kept, but it’s not on the first shelf anymore, it’s in the attic. I should never had taken you out of there. I know you feel the same. After all, you suffered so much that you eventually locked the attic door with me inside.
I’ve been told once that, deep inside, this feeling of longing for someone drowns. I drowned mine after our first goodbye, years ago, with alcohol, sweat and tears. It even drew a last breath, that ultimate kind of breath, that sparks a small blaze of hope, but we all know it’s really the last one.
I want you to know that I will never forget you, nor how supportive you were, how you admired me and laughed at my stupid jokes. I will never forget your innocent way of looking at the world, your soft mouth that would fit so well in mine, your tight hug and the way you’d say that you missed me even after 5 minutes apart.
You were amazing to me and I was an absolute cunt, even in our nostalgic period, but I don’t know, maybe that’s who I am. I keep working to change this, so it doesn’t hurt more nice people like you, it’s a struggle, but I keep fighting this daily battle against myself.
I also want you to know that I won’t let what happened to us be in vain, I will carry that baggage all my life. Believe it or not, you taught me a huge lesson about how I should treat people I love and I wrote it all down in my little notebook.
I don’t even know why I’m writing this letter. You’ll probably read my name on it and burn it. Perhaps it’s for myself, so I can put it all in perspective. So I can accept that I can move forward instead of circle around my past every time I feel lonesome.
I promise that this is the last time you’ll hear from me.