10/9/20
I can sleep on your side of the bed now. Without it feeling like there’s the weight of the world on my chest. I think that’s a good sign.
I don’t miss you. At least not how I used to. I miss being in love but I don’t miss being in love with you. There’s a lot I want to say but not enough to waste my time writing it all down. So I’ll just say this: I’m finally over it. I’m over the heartbreak. I’m over you. And what a freeing realization that is.
This is my last letter.
A.
“From the outside looking in, New Orleans seems to have been rebuilt stronger than it was before. But, those who lived in and loved the Crescent City before Hurricane Katrina know that, though her spirit is still very much so alive, the city herself is much different. Years are no longer used as descriptions; time is instead broken into “pre-Katrina” and “post-Katrina.” Hurricane warnings are taken much more seriously, a solemn hush falling over the city as we watch with baited breath for each new storm to take another path. And, in the most abandoned parts of town, in the areas that never grew back with life though the wildflowers did, the X’s painted on the fronts of houses by rescuers to keep track of the deaths and occupants of each home still remain, serving as a reminder that Death struck our city once and it has the ability to do so again.”
“Don’t say that I “owe you” just because I sobered up and changed my mind. Don’t say you “know girls like me” and with my “reputation,” this shouldn’t be anything new. Don’t force me to do it and tell me “it’s only fair.”
Because what’s not fair is the moment three months later when I’m in bed with someone I actually care about but can’t go any further because of what you did. It’s not fair that my whole body shakes, my lungs burn for air, and the only words I can say are “no,” “stop,” and “don’t.” It’s not fair that I already fear the man I love before he even touches my skin because you decided to take what was “fair” from me.
I hate you. I hate that three months, three years, later I’m still affected by that moment. I hate that he thinks he hurt me when it was really you all along. I hate that I still feel your touch lingering in the darkness of the night just when I think I’ve finally outrun all my demons.
And I hope one day you realize the hell you put me through and that the guilt never leaves your heart like that moment never leaves mine. I mean, it’s only fair, right?”
“I still don’t know what happened or where we went wrong but, damn, our could-have-been hurts a lot worse than I expected. And, you know, after all of this, I still think of you. And for what it’s worth, I hope you still think of me too.”
“I’ve been fucked over too many times to be satisfied with anyone but myself. I know I should be apologetic for being so angry with the universe but, with the way the cards have been dealt, it’s hard to be anything but disappointed. I’m just disappointed.”
“The bar was crowded, I had too much to drink, and you were drunk off of your feelings for me. I knew the kiss would hurt you but, in that moment, I didn’t give a shit. I wanted attention and you were the one offering it to me. I’m sorry.”
“What we had was no poetry. No, it was parked cars, bruised lips, and love bites that were never made with much love at all. It was all mistaken emotions and drunken affection. And I should’ve known better. I really should’ve. But my feelings for you took over like a virus, resistant to any medication or common sense. So when you left with that stupid car, you took my pride and any hope of treatment with you.”
“I’ve always been too loud, too sober, too much of a good thing. Too cautious of a love that never came.”
“They never made it. I think a lot of true loves never do. The world is just too harsh and love is just too fragile.”
“I remember the lighting of the room the most. More than his touch, or the kisses, or the terror. I commented on it while he was kissing his way down my neck and into my nightmares. I had to say something to distract myself or else I would have started screaming at the thought of what he was doing to me. There was so much darkness, I couldn’t understand it. The blinds were open and the street lamps were right outside the windows. There should have been more light. Why wasn’t there more light?”
But we were always changing. 