Washed away

I hope this letter finds you. I'm not sure why I'm writing it but consider this my final goodbye.

Read it in its entirety.

I can't remember the exact moment that I started to hate you, but I can remember every moment that led up to my breaking point.

It was the summer of 2018 when we met. I remember the day very well, as it was just 5 days before my 30th birthday. August 17th, 2018.

We had a group of mutual friends; we had gotten together to celebrate an engagement. My best friend was marrying your best friend. So, it seemed like, at the time, the universe wanted us to meet.

The first interaction was as basic and boring as any other. Small, get-to-know you talk with a bit of flirting. However, the way that you flirted was unlike any other person I've talked to.

You had a way of talking that made me feel like you cared what I had to say. Normally when someone asks how you are, you know they don't actually care so you just say fine... but not you.

You cared.

You listened.

I mattered. At least, I thought I did.

Fast forward to that fall. Around November of the same year, we were... hot and heavy, as our friends liked to say. Sure, our friends thought things escalated quickly, but we spent every waking moment together those few months in between. So, it had already felt like we'd been together a lifetime.

I remember thinking that I never knew love could be this easy. This... electric.

So, when you asked me to marry you in December, it was the easiest yes, I've ever mumbled.

We decided not to tell our friends for a few months after for fear of being judged or told it was a bad idea.

I think, at the time we thought it was the best idea we've ever thought up, and that's what mattered.

We knew we wanted to have a long engagement, anyway. We didn't have the money for a wedding, and at the time, we doubted that we ever would. But the love that we shared was worth more than a fancy dress and fancy food.

January came and went. February was gone quicker than it arrived, March was there in no time.

8 months together at this point. 4 of those months secretly engaged.

I hated the way you left clothes all over the floor, but I loved the way you took them off. I hated the way you dismissed my anger, but I loved the way you kissed me after a fight.

Truth is, I hated mostly everything about you... except the way you made me feel.

Did we give up on our marriage before we ever got the chance to be married? I think... in a way, yes.

But I loved you.

I would've done anything for you.

I did a lot of things that I'm not proud of to keep you.

Why did I fight so hard? Look at me now. Weighed down by the shackles of my decisions. Friendless. Freezing.

Look at you. Warm. Safe. Protected by the dirt that keeps your secrets.

I envy you. I'm so jealous it hurts.

I have no one to blame but myself.

Whenever I'm sad, I think back to the time we went to your parents' house for a pool party. We had been together almost a year at that point. June of 2019.

Your sister wanted to see how long she could hold her breath underwater.

Only... she never came back up.

You were heartbroken for weeks. I think back on this memory a lot because I think it was the one time in all our months together that you let me be there for you.

This memory becomes bitter, but you'll insist that nothing had changed.

Your grief weighed you down in every way possible, which meant I got to be the one to carry you. I helped get you through the hurt. I took weight off your back.

From that point on, you stopped kissing me after a fight and just became dismissive. You still left clothes all over the house, but you didn't let me watch while you took them off. You shooed me away when I was just trying to save us from the chopping block.

I didn't recognize you anymore once you stopped needing me.

The truth is that grief makes people reckless. I was trying to save you from yourself.

When you weren't eating, I had to spoon feed you.

When you wouldn't speak, I read to you.

I left you voicemails.

You gave me nothing in return except silence.

The silence became deafening. My fear became overwhelming.

What I felt most wasn't fear, it was anger at losing you.

When the words ran out, I realized I had nothing more to say.

Friends stopped calling. Dishes piled up. Clothes weren't the only thing on the floor.

We were.

What was left of us was getting stepped on and paraded around by the weight of everything that had come crashing down.

I couldn't let it end like that.

I couldn't let a moment of silence be the last moment we shared.

When I stood from the floor, I saw that it was dark. Foggy... or, it was... wait, it was snowing. I remember it clearly because there was snow on the window. And I could see my breath even inside the house.

It was cold. The air was dry. The scent of decay was strong.

Our relationship lay rotten next to you.

Nothing we had survived the stillness.

But I fixed you.

I fixed every problem we had.

I saved us before it got to the point of no return.

Silence wasn't the issue anymore, it was solved.

For the first time, I knew where my priorities lay.

They lied in you.

You were the only thing that mattered.

I can rest easy knowing I protected you.

Being here isn't as bad as I expected it would be.

I have routine. I'm learning how to live again.

I get to wake up to the warm morning light in the summer, and the cool morning air in the winter.

It's safe here.

I'm not in danger of oversharing because everyone knows my story.

They say they understand me. They say they empathize with me.

I'll spend the rest of my life in here as your hero.

I'm running out of paper.

I have to go.

This letter will be with the others while I sleep. I lay my head on them, keeping them warm for when I see you again.

As I stare outside, I watch the rain wash away all our biggest fears, and I have peace knowing it isn't the end for us.

You will return to me.