Member-only story
The Love Letter I’ll Never Send
You had no idea, did you? Story of my life.
It’s been another month, and I spiral into some kind of complacency as I realize — again — that you aren’t hanging by a thread. The cord’s been cut. Now the vein is bleeding out in slow pulses until there will be nothing left but regret.
“He’s not coming back, is he?”
Useless questions — they fill up my mind whenever there’s the concern of you and me and whatever the chaos between us had been. I know I was just a short line in your story, but for me you were chapter after chapter in a manuscript I wish I could burn under a full moon in the hopes the act will be a spell that cleanses me.
The worst of it is that I even penned a love letter — a long-ago screed, perhaps, written in the guise of sweet nothings within a perfume-tinted envelope.
My friend told me to burn it. I’m considering it.
I still remember the way the ink rushed over the page as I let my mind wander. My thoughts were footsteps into the labyrinth of what could have been. I didn’t realize it at the time, but those words may as well have been my rehearsal for the goodbye to come.
You never realized, and I want to be kind and say that’s okay.
