It is strange to write to you but somethings are still too sore to be spoken out loud and all the wrong words often end up written.
This is not an apology. What is done I would not have undone. Nothing is forever and, though our span was shorter than most, it was, and that was something sweet.
There will always be egg banjos on the roof of the boat and walks in the almost rain. You will always be the one that was there for me, whatever came after.
I am sorry that you were hurt. Your angry words tell me you are hurt still these years after, and for that I’m even more sorry. That pain I wish I could undo. Your love was an honour. But I couldn’t accept it, knowing that what I could offer in return was not enough, a poor shade of what you wanted.
Yours was a gift too great to take when it couldn’t be given back with a whole heart. That I was missing. I had nothing to give to you.
I sometimes thought you saw me as the magic bullet, the key to the future you longed for. But I wasn’t, I’m not, and nor is any other she. You are.
You are the only bit of that future that really matters, that is really meant. The rest will be best of what you make it, and there are many happy endings that can come to be if you call them.
To me you were a blessing, a godsend, truly a gift. That is not diluted, diminished or depleted by an end and nor are you. I cared for you, care for you and will, which is why I push away the computer and hold back the quick cold response to your messages.
I don’t think either of us gain from a war with over shadows, nothings. Words are just that, words, falling breaths, empty shells. They only mean what we put inside them. Let’s not do that.
I know you’ve felt angry, used, rejected. You’ve cast me as the wicked witch and perhaps I should have been more cautious for you. I tried to be clear, to look to the rocks that might lie ahead, but I was all swamped, awash already.
You needed a lighthouse; you got the ready reach of someone drowning, gasping, keen to cling. When someone says ‘lean on me, hold onto me’, it is hard not to when you’re falling, flailing in a flood. I think you know that.
You once said that I am only special when I write. That may be the worst compliment I’ve ever been given. Of course I took it with a smile because I am good enough for me, and that’s all I need to be.
If my words had power I’d wish you those I’d write. You would know that you are all you need to be, that you are liked, valued. I wish you saw yourself the way I did.
Even as you show me your worst, I will remember that best. I will remember my friend. After all, you are still you and I am still me.
Please, believe there is something better than this. There is no need to be angry. You have the magic yourself if you choose to use it. Be decent. Be you.