I realized today that I threw out that letter I wrote to you. That one I never meant to send. That one where I so succinctly said everything that I thought you needed to hear, expressed so clearly every wrong you’d ever done me, and put into words all that pain that I’d felt at your hands.
And now I somehow don’t remember what I’d written.
You’d think, had it been so important and so hurtful and so devastating, it’d still be here, as fresh as a new wound, ready for me to rip it open over and over. But I can’t remember what I felt after you walked away. Or what I felt before you did, for that matter, those few times you held me close and whispered into my ear. I don’t know what I’ve felt in these two months since.
You have touched me, but I don’t know in what way. You have changed me, but I still haven’t yet figured out how. The only thing I think I do know, is that you were worth none of my time, deserved none of the kisses I laid on your lips, and that I love you more than I can say. Please come back.