I can’t keep missing you. Not only that, I just can’t keep hoping that you’ll someday apologize. It tears me apart.
I care about you, maybe more than you know. And I didn’t hate your existence. I just hated the way you treated me.
But I know you probably hate me now. You probably haven’t thought about me in a long time. I don’t know if you meant all the things you said the last time we spoke, but damn if it felt like you knew all my weak points.
Maybe I was always in denial and I just propped you up as a better person in my head. Looking back on it now, the signs were there from the beginning. The person I was back then was just too naive to make any sense of it. It only made sense that in the end, you found easier to keep hurting me than to just apologize.
I still don’t know if you ever cared about me. You would say you did, but then you would just turn around and do something awful. I didn’t know where you stood on anything. I just felt like an object to you, or something disposable. Like you could just do whatever you wanted, or say whatever you wanted to me.
I had no voice! It was like I was choking. I loved you but I wanted to feel loved by you too. I wanted to feel respected by you too.
But maybe I was asking for too much. I’m sorry.
And I wanted to ask if you still had the copy of Watership Down I lent you that summer? The one I never got it back from you. Will you donate it away for me? I don’t know if you have it stuffed in your cabinet, or if it’s hiding in some cardboard box in the basement or if Cocoa ripped it up. Maybe you threw it out.
But if you still have it, would you donate it away for me? Give it a new life for me. Maybe someone else will find it and fall in love with it the same way I did. It’s a shame to keep it hidden away forever, never to see someone else turn it’s pages with anticipation or hope. If you ever cared about me, would you do that for me?
And if you ever want to speak with me again, you know how to find me.
T (the one “who ruins everything”)