“My” ******,
It’s been a long time since I have seen you, or even, pathetically, anonymously, wrote to you. Yet you linger in my mind. I tried to put up boundaries, thinking you would fade away if I put a wall between us. But I have found that pacifying my curiosity brings me more closure than avoidance does.
I’ve learned that I have created a version of you that is nonexistent. Seeing your posts confirms that you are not the you that lives in my memories. You are flawed. You are human. Just as I am. You are not bad. You are not wrong. Just. Human. Giving in to natural human temptations while remaining the hero of your own tale. Just like me. Like everyone.
Now, with your account set to private I thought I could permanently shut the door I have left ajar all these years, but my curiosity only grows. The ideological, mythical and godlike version of you permeates my thoughts, while the real you likely posts things that would make me visibly cringe and bring me a sense of complacency in my life decisions.
Still, I wish the cringey, goofy, real you the world I couldn’t give. I wish I could fix the issues that lie between us and bring true resolve, but I burned the bridges. I can’t see how I could fix them, or why you would trust their fortitude even if I rebuilt them. The same way I couldn’t trust yours. And that is where reality lies. I want the best for you, and that couldn’t possibly be me.
I hope this brings me some reprieve. Perhaps that is selfish to say, but I need to refocus my life. If not, I will show up again to write to you, not out of desire, but out of necessity.
Despite it all, I still do love you and hope you have found what makes you happiest. Until next time,
“Your” ******