Letters to a Lost Love

January 1, 1990 Dear Love,

I keep thinking that I miss you, but you’re not you anymore. And I can’t miss who you were, because then I wouldn’t be me. Then I think maybe I miss us, but I don’t want that either. You've left. I know it, I know you did, so why am I still here? Why am I still here waiting for you to come through the door? You loved me once, I know you must’ve. Maybe you still do, or maybe you've always had one foot out the door. Somewhere along the way, you got lost. And I’ve seemed to as well, just in the opposite direction. Maybe it isn't the love that we couldn't find, maybe it was me. Maybe it was us.

February 7, 1990, Dear Love,

I would have been there, you know. If you’d asked, I’d be on a train. It wouldn’t matter where it was going as long as you were on the other end. But you’re not, and you didn’t. So I avoid trains because you’ll never be on the other side. And I can’t seem to remember how to stop believing that you will be.

March 3, 1990, Dear Love,

It was your dream, yours. Not mine, never once mine. I wanted only to sleep under a bed of stars and flowers. But that wasn’t enough for you, only me. Only ever me, and maybe once long ago, you too.

April 16, 1990, Dear Love,

I wish I could hate you, I wish I could curse your actions. I wish I could fill my heart with anger, anything to replace this. But then, that would mean hating you. That would mean not understanding the resolve building the walls around your heart. And how could I not understand? How could I not want to be on your side, just because you're not at mine? My world was always you. But you, your world was always so much more, so much of everything else. How could I hate you for the very thing that made me love you. How could I hate you for leaving when it never could've ended any other way. So I settle for dreams where I have you, if only in stolen moments. I settle for letters to a lost love. I settle for your ghost.

May 22, 1990, Dear Love,

Forget-me-nots. You had told me they were your favorite flower, I'd asked why, and you'd told me that they were love, love holding on even after it should be gone. So I'd gathered some and hid them in your bag the night you'd left. I hadn't understood then, but I do now. Sometimes I wish I still didn't.

June 3, 1990, Dear Love,

It seems that in leaving, you took me with you. I should be over you by now. I know I should, but I can't, I want to, but I don't. Getting over you would mean losing you again, and I'm not sure I can bear that. I'm not sure I can bear the idea of having to do this alone again, even though a part of me is forced to admit that, in you leaving, I already am. So I let myself love the remnants of you. Not to bring you back, but because you were a part of me for so long that I don't know how to stop, and I can't quite bring myself to try.

July 10, 1990, Dear Love,

It's silly, I had been so terrified of getting close to anyone because I’d known it would destroy me when they leave. But even now, after my world has been colored in grief, I wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't risk never knowing you just to feel whole. I think that's what people forget, the love. There is so much love. There is no universe where I wouldn't have chosen you. There is no universe I would've chosen anything but you.

August 19, 1990, Dear Love,

All I have left of you is this grief, so I cling to it, to your memory. I don't expect to bring you back, but I'm not quite ready to let go. Not today, maybe one day, maybe soon.

September 30, 1990, Dear Love,

There is no other way to explain this feeling other than my inability to stop myself from expecting every stranger to turn around and be you. The wish to one day wake up without my mind coated in your perfume. In this letter, I get to talk to you one last time. I get to breathe in who we were, and I can pretend you're coming back. I think a part of me will always love you, but one day I’ll be able to love other things too.

October 1, 1990, Dear Love,

I know you'd want me happy, you'd told me as much. I can still smell the scent of coffee in your hair. You'd swept me up in your arms, telling me that you couldn't be my everything. Whispering to me under your breath, begging me to let myself let you go. To find my happy ending. That this wasn't an ending, just another chance at a new beginning. I hadn't understood then, not really. I'd pretended to agree. Nodding, I'd told you to go, to find your heart. You ended up taking mine with you, too.

November 22, 1990, Dear Love,

I laughed today. It’s been so long, too long. An old friend had dragged me out of the house, and as adamant as I was against it, I was glad to go, though I'll never admit it. The moment I walked up to greet him, he’d hit me with a pickup line of all things, startling a laugh out of me. Quick and short, and nothing like it once was. But it was good. Good to laugh, to joke, and smile. Good to forget, if only for a minute. It hurt too, though. To have someone other than you making me laugh, but I think in time, one day it could hurt a little less.

December 31, 1990, Dear Love,

I laughed today and it didn't hurt. I danced and didn't think of you, dancing with me. I am not the same, but I wouldn’t want to be, because if I were the same, then it would be you. But it's not, not you, and not me, and never again will it be us. I think for the first time I'm okay with that. Okay with you staying a memory, okay with me not meaning you. To be the same would mean to act as if you were never here. That’s not what I want, but I want more now, too. I want to live again. I miss the sun. It seems it is due time for me to let you go. Thank you for the love.

Once Yours,

Your Lost Love

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