I’m sorry I’m not religious enough for you. I tried. I still try.
I’ve tried so hard to believe in this God you say is so truly amazing. But it’s hard when I feel like this. According to your theory, He should love me so much that I don’t hate myself anymore. But I do.
The scary part is that you’re the only one that makes me happy. I haven’t seen you in a year and a half. The last time I saw you we were together, and now we aren’t. We still talk like best friends. Maybe we are. I’ve listened to all your girl problems and each time you say anything about another girl my heart cracks. It makes me sick, but I’d rather talk to you, so I take the pain.
I know I drunk dial you and tell you that I’m still in love with you, and I’m sorry because it’s probably really awkward. But what you don’t know is that I’m about 8,000 times more honest when I’m drunk.
Maybe if I see you again it’ll put my heart to rest and I’ll know for sure that we’re just not meant to be, that us being together isn’t a part of “God’s Plan”. But maybe we are. Maybe you don’t see it, or maybe you do. I have no idea. You won’t tell me. You’re too busy finding your religious, God-happy soulmate.
I know you’ll never read this, but I wish you’d think about me the way you used to. I miss you. I miss us.