We received this letter in the mail. No post mark. No return address. No opening or closing salutation.
I told someone really important to me on their death bed about what happened between us, and she told me to make things right. I talked to someone else about it more recently, and she told me that I get to respect your wishes to not contact you and (should) work on forgiving myself. I will probably never see you again and will never hear your side of the story and for that, I hate myself, because I’m pretty sure you hate me now. I was quick to judge based off my own past experiences and you took offense. I guess I had missed the mark completely. Is this the part where I say I’m sorry? I feel like those two words can’t really change much or fix anything.
Apparently, the process of apologizing is to lighten the load on me, so I guess it’s pointless to even write this, and the freedom will come when I start to actually forgive and love myself. The same person who did told me not to contact you also told me to accept the fact that I may die alone and never experience love and that people will then be attracted to that peace within me. God, that idea just seemed even more depressing.
I’ve come to the conclusion, though, that it’s probably best for me to be alone, then to be with someone who loves someone else, or to fall for guys who don’t really care about who I am. Right after things ended, I did get with someone else, and everything I accused you of, was in reality, were the arms that I ran directly into, and that, in fact, wasn’t what you were about at all. I’m sorry I fucked things up. I’m sorry for being fucked up. I wish you nothing but happiness and success, and I’m sorry for causing you even more pain than you were already in at the time.”