Open Letter #16

Dear ——,

God, it hurts.

And the worst part is—I have no idea why. No, that’s a lie. I know why. It’s because I can see us drifting apart. The stunted conversations, the brisk replies, and then we just don’t feel like talking to each other anymore. I wonder why that is? Why did you suddenly stop trying? Did I do something wrong? Did you realize that trying to maintain a relationship over distance just wasn’t worth it? Is there someone else? I’m just trying to figure you out because I could never read you well. You were always so composed with your emotions. And more often that I liked, you said one thing, then did the exact opposite. Which way am I supposed to go if you’re beckoning me from two different directions?

Are you just as confused as I am? I think I made myself pretty obvious. Or are you just playing around? You’ve never been the type, so I doubt it. I’m happy that I can say that with such certainty. So, I’m only left to believe that you’ve finally made up your mind, and this distance you’re creating is the answer.

It hurts right now, and I tried to hold onto this—whatever this is—but it takes two to make a relationship. And I loathe feeling desperate. I hate to be the only one waiting around for a reply you’re too busy to give, and when you finally do, you disappear quickly after. I know you have a life to live, but I can’t help but feel that way. I wonder if I should blame the distance, but I know it isn’t at fault. It was a factor, sure, but truth is anything works. If both care enough to make it. Maybe you didn’t though, and I… I just didn’t interest you enough for you to stick around.

I just wished it didn’t hurt so much. I wish I didn’t see the pieces of our relationship slipping like water through my fingers, seeing us growing apart and returning to—I’m not sure… something else. It’s killing me inside. I hate it. I miss you. I want you. The fact that you don’t feel as strongly just makes it worse. Makes me feel like such a fool all over again. I wish I could erase these feelings because I hate how I’ve always felt things so deeply. I know you care about me, but your emotions probably don’t even compare to the eruption that are mine. I think about you all the damn time. Before I go to bed and right after I wake, and all I wonder during particularly slow moments is, do you, too? (I doubt it, and that negative part of me is so damn strong). I wish I didn’t live so far away. I wish I never came back. Time heals, but damn if it doesn’t take a while. What’s worse is that I even hate the knowledge that I can go on my own without you. How I can just carry on given enough time. How it’ll be easier after a few more torpid months. I don’t want it to reach that. I just want you. And I’m too selfish to let go.

But I’m cowardly, too. I won’t stop you from drifting away, but I will stupidly complain with my pen and mope about one too many times until you’ve fully moved on. Until I’ve moved on as well. And that’s my problem isn’t it? Why is this so hard?

I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted. I’m sorry that this is all I have to offer. I’m sorry for making things harder on you. I’ll stop now. I promise. Because, honestly… I’m tired of trying, too.

—N. Rinth


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