Apologies Seem to Come and Go.

Many years in the future. I'm no longer the twenty-three-year-old kid that I was when there was no need for letters because we would talk in person face-to-face. I would look deep into your brown-green eyes, and I would be lost. Now, as I sit at my small kitchen table and I'm looking at the letter you sent me. You began it just like how I thought you would start a letter. You start it the same way you would begin small talk. As I look at it now, I can't help but feel sad, and angry. What was the need for this letter I'm looking at? Knowing you, there won't be a logical answer because with you there was never a logical answer. There wasn't even logic and that's me being fair. I look down at the letter in my hand and I assume you wrote it drunk because it's not written properly.

You begin,

Hey, I got your address from O, and I just wanted to check to see how you are doing. :) I thought a letter would be nice to write and also because I lost your phone number. "Hey," what the fuck is that? A hey, like we're old friends still.

You continue, 

Anyway, how are you? What's going on in your life? I hope you're doing good, long time no see and an even longer time without hearing from you. Sometimes, I see you downtown and I want to say hi but, I could tell that you already saw me before I saw you, and I can see it in your eyes that even if I look your way and try to approach you--that I would be invisible to you. Just the other night I saw you at our spot and there was a guy hanging around your arm. He's cute :) But sometimes I wish it was still me :( that night, before the two of you left you walked right by me. You looked right at me, and I said, "hi" and you looked right at me, and I saw how empty your eyes were, but I could tell they were just empty for me. From across the room while I sat at the bar, I saw them shining like two quarters in a moonlit well. Then, you brushed past me, and I caught your eyes, and you looked like a fallen angel. And I thought to myself, after all this time, he still feels something. Do you still feel some type of way after I broke up with you? I went back to the bar, sipping. I threw back my whiskey ginger ale because I felt something in my heart--that feeling I cannot articulate for you on this page. You were always the smart one who could talk about your feelings in such a poetic way. Now, I wish that when I sat next to you that I would've listened. Maybe, I would've learned something... I looked out the bar window and under the city lights, the very same ones that we would walk under, you walked with him. I knew this was going to happen, it's been so long but, I mean I broke up with you because I wanted that. And I remember when I told you that to your face. How I threw such things at you and your eyes would water with bitterness and a jealousy that’s colored green. I remember I told you something that years later, in a moment of deja vu I regretted so deeply. You remember what I told you, I know you do, because you were always the one to remember things.

Yeah, I do remember you looked me in my eyes and told me that you were able to love someone else because I loved you, but you couldn’t love me. Even now, that I think about it–it’s still so unfair that you threw that in my face. You continue, 

 I don't know what's going on with me. Somehow, some way, I woke up one morning and I missed you more than I ever had. Every little thing that I took for granted I missed. I miss your big brown eyes that turn to honey and amber when you stand in the sun. I miss your voice, deep, brassy and handsome. Your handsomeness. Your laugh that would fill up a room. When I heard you voice that night in the bar, and it wasn’t close to me, and I knew later that same voice was going to be whispering “love yous” in that man’s ear and not mine. I swear I felt something die in me. I cannot put it in words but if there was one: regret. I regret the way I ended things. Regret that I let you fall. Regret that you ended up all alone, I left you in the rain when I went to go find somewhere dry and warm. And I did this knowing that you had no one. Sometimes I think about it on random days out of nowhere and I can't believe I was so selfish. I can't believe that my heart was a cold heartless thing.

This last line is punctuated by a tear. I could see where the paper got wet. But I don’t care so I tell myself that it’s condensation from whatever you were drinking. You continue for a few more lines and they are lines filled with hope but also a deep, pathetic sadness.

I would really like to talk to you. We can get a drink or something to eat just like old times? :) Would you like that? Would you like to sit across from me like we used to? Can my fingertips caress yours even for a second? Can it be old times? I’m sorry. I really am. I wished I didn’t let you go. Call me please. I really want to hear from you.

There’s a number down at the bottom of the page, smudged from whatever you were drinking because frankly, I cannot believe that you were crying when you wrote this. You didn’t even cry when you left me. So now, I can’t see you that way. Your ego was too big for that. You were always avoidant of your emotions. You can’t comprehend big emotions like the ones you were trying to write down. Even now, as I look at this letter, I don’t believe anything you said. This letter was supposed to be a sorry I can see that but all you wrote was a big I miss you.

I re-read it when I’m standing on the ledge of my building looking down at traffic. My skull is tickling my brain because of all the adderall I took. I want to stay up all night and try to decipher what you want me to do because this letter is just a puzzle to the human being that you are. I’m trying to dust off the book that is your soul. But that is for later.

This letter that I’m writing right now, I’m going to rip it up later and stuff it in the trash. Burn it and let the ashes float up to the moon and God. Do whatever I want with it besides send it to you. You were always into astrology, so search the stars for this letter and the answers that you want. I don’t have them. I can tell that you’re just lonely, that you never fixed the ugliness inside of you even when I told you to do that all that time ago. You’re right, every time I would express myself you would just sit there on the couch, a chair, the edge of the bed, and not hear a word. Just a stupid fucking look on your face.

Now, all of a sudden you let go of your ego and you want something different. Guess what? I’m not letting mine go. I gave all my special to you. And you took it and ran with it. That guy you saw me walking with. He was nothing. It’s the same way with you still. You see what you want to see. It’s been a decade, and your perception is still fucked. I’m surprised that you made it this far in the world. You continue to wear rose colored glasses for nobody but yourself. You probably still tell yourself certain things so you can sleep at night. Now, your letter is in front of me folded in half and I’ve already decided what I’m going to do with it. I’m going to take it to the empty kitchen sink the color of bleached bone and I’m going to have a fire. This letter I'm writing to you is my kindling. And I’m going to have a drink and watch everything that you felt burn right in front of me. I tell myself; you don’t deserve a reply. 

Before I strike the match, I memorize your phone number because I was the one to always remember things.