Dear ——,
I miss you.
And I know that that’s so incredibly selfish of me, but I just can’t help it. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I can go on and on all day about anything and everything so long as I’m with you, but those three words are like a mantra in my mind repeating over and over. A phrase of personal torture. And you know what’s really scary? I can’t make it stop.
My memories of you have a mind of their own. A little monster with beady eyes and sharp teeth, banging on the walls of my subconscious, cracking it, crawling through, and I’m just so sick of it. I want it to stop. God, do I want it to stop. Because I actually kind of like it—and I hate that. Hate that I love waking up to the thought of you. Of your grin, of our shared interests, of our playful disagreements, of our not so distant memories. I swear that I can still hear you calling out to me. Still hear your reactions by my side whenever I find something stupid that I could only send to you.
But that’s all these are: thoughts of you.
And it’s so hard trying to experience something when all I can do is wish you were here to experience it, too. So, please, I beg of you, leave my mind because I’m not strong enough to let go on my own. Cut the cord. I love our friendship, but having to kill my feelings with you right there is too hard to endure, and I’m afraid that if this goes on, then I might end up resenting you. I don’t want that. Good god, please anything but that.
I miss you, and this distance is fucking painful but when you’re speaking to me all the time and talking to me like I’m someone important, I can’t stop missing you. Please let go or please speak up. I’m tired of these mixed signals and these mindless games because I’m already madly, furiously in love with you—haven’t I made that obvious enough?
—N. Rinth
Nicholas Rinth 