The day I knew I wouldn’t be seeing you again.

Hello again, Dearest.

I‘m sorry I haven’t written to you in a while, I guess I’ve been out of sorts.

I've been this way for a long time.

Talking to you the other day felt like seeing the sunshine again, like being able to catch a sweet fresh breath of the most delightful air again.

It brought back memories, so many wonderful thoughts of the fleeting moments we shared together…

But it also made me come to terms with this small fact that I’d been grossly overlooking and avoiding; I think I may have started falling out of love with you now.

I don’t know when it started, but it has started, I can tell.

Everything feels phased out and I cannot make sense of it. My inner baby is screaming and crying at the prospect of even having to think of a world where you aren’t in it, and worse still, having to live and live on and live well in that world. She doesn’t want to. I don’t blame her.

Talking to you felt like losing the last train to Paris. (I remember writing this almost four years ago and it’s sad to see nothing’s changed, and that I’ve lived in this state of pain for years now…)

Talking to you felt like knowing summer and sunshine and all things bright and golden and beautiful have come to an end, and this end is beyond my control now, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Hearing your voice felt like all the flowers in my lungs that you made grow bloomed again, making my chest so full of warmth and joy and tender love, that it got difficult to breathe for a while.

Listening to you say you weren’t okay felt like how a mother can’t help but snuggle and protect her newborn, wanting to end everything that makes them upset… I don’t know what that actually feels like but I imagine it would be like this. It felt devastating to know you wouldn’t let me in and you wouldn’t let me help you out.

Talking to you the other day made me realize perhaps you never did love me, you never did actually care, and you really were and are okay with never seeing or hearing from me again. I am still unable to articulate how that made me feel.

A series of endings, that seem to go on forever.

When shall I be offered respite, from these debilitating wounds that answer only to your name, and your name alone; I do not know.

I do not know if I want the respite, sometimes.

I really did love you the most I could, and now that’s the only thing I know to do well.

I know you won’t want to see me again; you’re already long gone. I don’t know now if I would want to, either. Maybe it’s better this way.

I’ve crafted a world now out of this pain and heartache and there you are, at its core… being in it will always mean being with you, for me.

I do not wish to go on from here.

I’m happy here, Dearest, leave me be.

-Love.

-Loss.