Austin nights

Hey Theo,

I know this message might catch you off guard, and I wouldn’t blame you if you chose not to read it. I know I owe you an apology, but so much time has passed, and so many things have happened that I’m not even sure where to start. Still, I hope you’ll keep reading.

The last time we saw each other wasn’t under the best circumstances. You hated me then, and I was angry at you, too. But I know you don’t hate me now—not because I want to feel better about myself, but because I know you. You know me, too. I’d rather be hated than forgotten, and I’ve always had this craving for attention that used to annoy you so much. Now, I realize I’ve been erased from your life. So, here I am, trying to come back from exile.

First, congratulations on your engagement. That’s right—Martha told me. Don’t be mad at her; I was the one who kept asking about you. You know she’s terrible at keeping secrets, especially one as big as that.

Martha will have a beautiful sister-in-law. She has this natural, gentle beauty I could never pull off, no matter how hard I tried. I always rely on heavy makeup—the kind you said made me look like a clown. But she’s lovely in a way that shines effortlessly.

Congratulations, Theodore Alton. I mean that. Your fiancée must be proud to take your last name. Did you know I looked it up recently? It means town at the source of a river. It seemed fitting for us—you and I first met by the river in our hometown.

Theo, do you remember what I was like to see the city for the first time? You and I discovered Austin together—two kids from a faraway town chasing the American dream. We believed stepping onto the pavement of an unfamiliar place would give us answers to questions we didn’t even know how to ask. As long as we had each other, we thought everything would eventually make sense.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about those days. About the awful apartment you picked that was miles away from everything. About you lying sideways on the old twin mattress your dad gave us. About the two of us sitting on the carpet, eating Panda Express while you told me you believed in me. You said my songs and half-decent voice could take me far, that we’d live carefree lives. And you’d finally have the bookstore you always dreamed of. 

“I’ll buy it for you” I told you. “My only demand is that it has to have my name on the logo”.

“Aurora’s Bookstore is a pretty good name,” you replied. “No complaints from me”.

Would you still name it that? I hope you do.

I still read poetry sometimes—the ones you used to recommend. It’s like music without the rest, but nothing ever sticks. I’m not as smart as you.

Theo… I owe you so many apologies.

Do you still think about your dreams? About the bookstore? I saw from your pictures that you’ve taken an office job. Maybe that’s how you met her—your new dream in a different place. I think about your bookstore often, about how your eyes lit up when you talked about what it would be like.

And then I think about the nights you’d come to the bar where I sang, getting the crows clap for me. In that bar, I always felt like I was singing just for you—like when we were fifteen, sitting by the river, and I’d hum cheesy songs to make you laugh.

Sometimes, when nostalgia hits me hard, I still feel like I’m singing to you.

We were the kind of couple people looked at and thought, That’s what love should be like. The laughs, the hand-holding, the secret glances, the light blush on our faces—it was perfect. And then, it wasn’t. Everything imploded, leaving no trace of us behind.

Have you ever thought about that, Theo? I’m sure you haven’t.

After all, I’m the one who ruined it—the missed birthday, the nights on tour and the stupid rumors. You told me I needed balance, but I was so caught up in the people, the stage, and the life I’d dreamed of, that I couldn’t see why you weren’t proud of me. Why you couldn’t be grateful for the money I was making. And I said hurtful things, things that I didn’t mean, and I’m so sorry, Theo.

I know it doesn’t matter now. You have her—the future Olivia Alton.

Want to know something? I already knew you’d marry her. I saw it in your eyes—in a photo I stumbled upon years ago. My cynical self thought it wasn’t serious, that I could win you back, that you couldn’t have forgotten me after just a year. But then I saw the way you looked at her—your eyes sparkled like sunlight on the river where we grew up. You looked happy.

She looked at you the same way. And it wasn’t jealousy I felt—it was something far worse. Like I was living the wrong life.

That picture—her expression, your gaze—made me think of us, of how you used to look at me when you loved me. Back then, everything felt easier. Love does that, isn’t it? It lightens the burden of life, makes you believe in yourself in a way you can’t on your own. I think that’s why I am this way now—because you believed in me so much I became cocky.

Now, I’m in the studio, and things start to feel shallow when everything you wanted becomes reality. It’s a kind of ennui, if you look at it that way. I think I simple made a mistake, and , as always, you were right—I should have loved you more. I love you the right way now, but I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know where to put it so it stops weighing me down. And I wonder if that’s how you felt with me—overflowing with love you couldn’t place anywhere, with no one there to receive it, so full you can’t even breathe. 

Theo, I’m so sorry. I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’re happy. I need you to know I loved you as much as I could, even if it wasn’t enough for someone as good as you. On my end, I’m content to send you this because I needed to place my love somewhere to be able to breathe again, even if it’s no longer reciprocated. I know you’ll hate me once you’ve finished reading, but hey, at least I’m no longer exiled. 

Yours, 

Aurora.