I’ve written this letter so many times. I’ve written it so many times and in so many variations that I quite nearly don’t know where to start, which version of my pain I want to convey to you this time around.
You said to me once that you didn’t know why I was hurt, that I knew as well as you did when we began what we started that it was fleeting and that it wouldn’t last. And I did know that, I’m not nearly so foolish as to think otherwise, though I’m sure I must have seemed quite nearly that foolish to you. I’m sure to you I seemed to be a great many things I’m not because you know me so little but became an object of my affection so quickly.
I was upset because I remembered the day after we were first together, when we sent facebook messages to each other in utter horror at what had happened, and then eventually deciding to do it again. And I remembered late nights on hammocks in a garden with you, talking about things I wouldn’t dream of telling the boy I’ve spent the last two years of my life with. I remembered our first kiss. I remembered texts when I was sick asking if I felt better, that ended in a happy face and jokingly referred to the affair you’d never mention now. And I remembered your painfully obvious flirting that I thought everyone would see. And I remembered the way you would wrestle to tickle me on the couch when he wasn’t home, even though I screamed and laughed in disapproval. And I remember the way you looked at me that day, straight in my eyes, and then resorted to making a funny face instead of kissing me deeply as you did twenty minutes later. And I remembered the way you pulled me into a cuddle and held me close to your chest and kissed my forehead.
And I remembered every single moment there had ever been any indication from you that there was more than just a mutual agreement to have sex. And the reason I was upset was because all those little moments had led me down the slippery slope toward falling in love with you, and then suddenly it was if they had never been there. I wasn’t upset because it was over — I was upset because you had taken away any indication that you had ever cared for me, as if they had never existed. That’s why I was so bitter and angry with you, David. Not because I wouldn’t get to be with you anymore, but because it was as if we had never been together at all.
I know you don’t care about this anymore, that you don’t care about me anymore, that you wish I would let it go and fade into oblivion where I know you want it to stay. But I know I’ll never get the closure I need until you read these things, and that one day I’ll have to send this letter to you for real. Because I miss my friend. I miss you more than I know how to say. I’m sorry I ruined us. I wish I could take it all back.