a letter that has been returned

let me write you a letter.

i’ll probably regret it, love, but you know words are all i have. we have been grasping at straws for months now, trying to find a single piece that could still fit together. it might be futile.

this could all be for nothing. you could read this and scoff, think my words aren’t enough, spill your iced coffee on the ink and watch it all bleed together. i wouldn’t be surprised. nothing makes me feel anymore. is it your fault, or mine?

the blame game is a difficult one to win. you tell me i am trying too hard to make this work, that if i stopped fighting now it would mean more to you. i would be listening (for the first time ever, you continue to express). i could let you move on, find a new woman to try to love.

love.

love, you never used that word. you would say it was years of emotional detachment, not feeling your feelings properly, it was just too difficult. i can’t imagine that you were being truthful now. i can’t imagine that we could ever have spent the rest of our lives together, as much as i tried to convince myself it was worth it. 

am i supposed to apologize? did you want to hear that i’m sorry for not giving you every single part of me? should i have worked harder? when there is nothing left to work for, it is impossible to see the light at the end of our tunnel.

i don’t think there is a light. i think me and you are in the darkness, and the only way to escape is to leave each other.

i don’t know if i’ll always love you, but i always want to.