An apology and a love letter

Dearest Charlie,

I came across the love letter you once wrote for me. This might come as something of a surprise to you, but I have kept it safe all these years. If you’d have told me a decade ago that I would have kept this personal reminder of my mistake, then I would have laughed. I am sure I should have burned it, tore it into shreds, or something else just to be rid of this weight I still feel when it comes to you.

Truth is, I think of you nearly all the time. I want to know what you’re up to, if you still think Star Wars is the greatest film franchise and if you managed to get back into college like you planned. But, if I am being honest, I wonder if you ever think about me. Do you, like me, get to the end of the year and, while everyone is celebrating with a glass of champagne, get snippets of an accidental meeting that would change the entire night.

I won’t even insult you by asking if you remember the night we met. I know you do. You opened with our chance encounter in your own letter and, quite frankly, we picked a date to remember. December 31, 2012. It has been almost twelve years since we met, and almost a further seven since we last spoke to one another, and yet, no-one has held a place in my heart the way you have and continue to do.

I feel like I am waffling now, trying to overcompensate for the fact that I have so much to say that I can’t put into words. Ironically, you did always tell me that I was a bad communicator. Funnily enough, I have gone into the communications industry now and I think you’d laugh at that fact like it was a bad joke.

So, what is the reason for me suddenly writing to you again out of the blue? Well, you once asked me to write my own love letter in response. It was supposed to be romantic. Two young lovers in their first real relationship showing how they adored one another through the art of language. Look, I was on Tumblr a lot back then and the edgy posts used to speak to my angsty 18-year-old self. Now, as a 30-year-old adult with a bit of self-worth, I find myself cringing just a little bit.

Here lies the problem; you said it was easy to put into words how you felt about me, how you knew I was ‘the one’ almost instantly. We were the classic ‘weren’t looking for anything, yet still found something’ trope. I should have felt the same way, but I didn’t. Couldn’t. At the time, I thought I struggled to voice my love for you because I had so many complex adult feelings I was yet to recognize, but the truth was that I just didn’t feel the same way. Trust me when I tell you that I don’t think I have ever forgiven myself for that stone cold realization and I sincerely hope you have found someone with a limitless amount of love for you. Someone to have kids with, to grow old with and to share in the little things. You know, all the things I could never give you.

Thing is, when we met each other, I did feel an instant connection, or a ‘spark’ as one might say. It was exactly like the movies, and I felt like we were actors in some Hallmark drama, but we were real people with wildly different paths that not even a mad dash through the airport with a confession of love could change. People only ever saw us as a couple and never as individuals, so no-one, not even you, could see what was going on when I went home. No-one saw the youngest child left behind by their siblings in a tense household filled with rage and regret, and this is something that has left a shadow over me whenever I try to connect with someone.

I knew there was something wrong with me when I said “I love you” for the first time with no gut feeling that it was right. We were in your little black Corsa (a truly terrible car, by the way), in a McDonald’s car park. I know we argued about this in the past, as you were sure I said it elsewhere (though I don’t remember where), but I am pretty sure this was the moment. Despite my words, there were no butterflies or fireworks going off in my mind. It was just blank and empty, yet you smiled so wide I can still see the dimples in your cheeks as you flashed a toothy grin. This might not come as a comfort, but it’s an emotional state I have lived in for the past decade, so I feel the need to let you know that it’s not you…it really is me. Okay, that’s still a terrible line, but the sentiment of the cliché actually fits here.

Since my lack of communication and emotional availability was something that bothered you, I’ll share some personal information I have never told anyone. I have finally been seeing a therapist for some time and the things I have learned about myself are truly eye-opening. He says I have depression and maybe some form of PTSD relating to my childhood. So, in a funny way, it’s not really just me, but my mental health and family are really the ones to blame here. I am joking, of course, although I can already tell you are probably already frowning at how unfunny this actually is to you.

Instead of joking, what I should really say is this; I am sorry. I know it's years too late, both the apology and my decision to go into therapy…but I guess it’s better to be late than never, right?

I know you have moved on in the years past, and rightfully so. My mum still lives in our hometown, she says you’re married and have a kid now. I am happy for you, really I am. You got what you wanted out of life, while I managed to get what I wanted as well, which was out of that small town.

And I guess, while we’re on that subject, I have also moved on. While it’s not my first relationship post-us, it is my first since therapy. The reason why I am telling you this is that, if I am being wholly honest, I am afraid. I am afraid that I will never be able to give them what they need or deserve. I am afraid I will be as callous as I was with you, because no amount of therapy lessons can change a person. I am afraid something in me is broken and anyone who gets close to me deserves better.  

But you’ll never really know any of this, will you? You have changed address since we last spoke on that fateful New Years’s Eve all those years ago and you have still blocked me on all social media channels. I can’t even contact you by email because, let’s face it, Facebook was it for us millennial's. Can’t say I blame you for it though, and you’d think that disconnect would have made it easier for me, but oh no, you were never content to not be at the forefront of my thoughts.

I guess I’ll do what I always should have done ten years ago…I’ll burn your letter. I’ll mark the date: December 31, 2017, the date I finally got out of our small town…and left you behind.  

Who knows, maybe I’ll burn this letter alongside it, seeing as it will never reach you. Maybe as soon as the bells ring in a New Year, I will watch as our words both long forgotten and long-awaited burn to ash, before scattering the remnants of who we were to the wind for that added dramatic touch (I guess the Tumblr fanatic in me never really left.)

With one final farewell,

Blake x