It seems that we were never meant to be an epic; certainly nothing of a story for the ages. We were never that cliché of fairytale romance or picturesque young love, but for me it was enough. It’s true that we’re older now, marginally small in years, but a lifetime of experience has made its way between us.
While you were in rehab, I was left to feed my own addiction. Those stories and rumors, what you used to hear about me, I didn’t lie to you when I told you then that they weren’t true – but I suppose they are now. I wish that I had never broken your heart and that you had never broken mine. In the process of fixing yourself, in loving her, you scattered what pieces were left of me before I could even have thought to pick them up.
I wish so much that I could pack your memories away in a box for storage in the cold recesses of some attic; I’ve tried to hate you and then just to erase you completely. But I can’t.
I’m so sorry that I let you down July.