I’ve been longing to write this letter for so long. But every night I sat with my pen, a paper, and my heart — I felt miserably alone.
And I keep thinking, what difference will it create in your heart one way or the other even if I write what I have in my heart. What change will it bring to our overly complex and broken story?
And as hard as I clench my tooths for an answer, the harder it gets to bring the words out. So, here I am, sitting on my kitchen floor while the coffee brews. It’s 4:30 in the dawn and suddenly I realized that I’m sitting here since, I feel, forever.
You know, everything tastes bland to me now. Even the things that were dear to my tongue. And I have this funny feeling that I’ll find myself on the kitchen floor every night from 1 to 4 in search of the right words to say sorry.
And I am sure, there must be a way to say it just right. I sense that the mistakes we’ve made when we’re together were bound to happen. And I hoped for these nuances to bring us closer.
Unfortunately, I never realized at what point we crossed our lines. Our fights, whenever I recall, were not as much about not getting attention but they were more about not giving attention.
I didn’t realize it at that time.
But now I see it clearly, clearly than ever, “love can only be felt when given”.
And if I get another chance to be the person next to you, holding your hairs back when you puke tequila after the party and kiss you goodnight. I’d, and I’m not putting it lightly, love to do it all over again.
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