They told me that I should write a letter. A form of closure they said. It should be addressed to YOU — capital y — capital ou. So here I am. Writing you a letter I hope you’ll never read.

From the moment it happened, I was so confused. How did I feel so safe…so secure with you? How did you let me in when no one else had gotten there before? But I wasn’t sad–never sad. I felt nervous excitement–elation. I didn’t know what it was at first. Or maybe deep down I did and needed time for my mind to catch up. The beginning was beautiful. The excitement of texting back and forth. Of good nights and good mornings. How was your day and good news. It was confusing but new. It was beautiful. But we weren’t ready–we both knew. Countless days, daily texts, trips, and shared beds. Whatever it was between us made me like myself a little more.

When did it all become so overwhelming? When did I start missing the way you felt beside me? When did sleeping alone at night feel wrong? There was so much drama behind the scenes I didn’t let you know. So much strain in my own life. Was there strain in yours? You have so much to look forward to every day. You don’t need me. You never did. You never looked forward to my text…but I hope you never dreaded it. Was I too much drama in your normally calm life? You never thought about a relationship and I think I made you think too much.

But we enjoyed our time, didn’t we? No regrets.

But the end…goddess did that hurt. Something neither of us could stop. Something that only festered and grew. Your privacy was invaded–mine too. It became too much. The cup was overflowing. No, it had toppled long ago and we pretended its trickling was enough to hang on. When did daily texts become later and later? Less and less? When every two weeks became three…became longer. When did the weight of social interactions cause all walls to crumble down. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t mine either. It was the world against us.

I hate how we ended. I hate having to read the words on a phone (I like to think you did too). It changed everything. It made everything end. That last phone call was to hear your voice. Hear it one last time before we meet again as friends. And this time only friends. Right now it hurts. But it won’t always.

But–

If I knew the last time I held you would be the last time, I would’ve held you closer.

If I knew the last kiss would be our last, I would’ve kissed you longer.

If I knew the last time we made love would be our last, I would’ve waited til the sun came up for it to end.

If I knew the last time you kissed me on my forehead while I slept was going to be the last, I would’ve never woken up.

But the world is cruel. Our situation is cruel.

Gone are the hopes for warm autumn dates. Gone are the plans we’d made. Gone are the future talks and hopes. While all we live in is overwhelm. Ripped apart. Was it wrong of me to give you the out? I could’ve kept silent. I could’ve let you find out naturally–or never. But I’m not a selfish being. I only wanted good for you.

Even if good wasn’t me.

So I’m writing this letter. This letter I hope you’ll never read. But they say I’ll get closure. Enough for my feelings to one day fade, for me to smile genuinely when I see you again and not feel the pain. To be friends and greet you with a grin. A:

How are you?

(I miss you).

I’m fine.

(I still love you)

And you’ll ask me how I am and I’ll smile.

I’m doing fine too.

(I will be)

We promised to be friends. To not lose each other from the start. Because even just as friends, at least I get to see your smile in my life.

(it’s all I can ask for)