It’s been two months

I still feel like I’m smothering.
I think about you constantly. I worry about you, how your day was, if you’re okay, if your family is okay. Every time I think it’s getting a little better, I hear or see something that reminds me of you. Or it gets too quiet at night, and I can’t drown it out by keeping myself busy. Then all I can think about is checking in on you.
I’ve written so many texts and deleted them. I sent you a letter, even though I probably shouldn’t have. I couldn’t imagine going the rest of my life hating you, or feeling like the last thing we ever said to each other was something ugly.
I wish you would reach out. I wish I’d wake up and see that you wanted to make it right. That you wanted to explain everything instead of letting it end with a ten-message, pissy baby text conversation that somehow became this.
I’ll never speak badly about you. To anyone. No matter what happened between us… you’re an amazing man. You just didn’t want me. I only wish you would’ve told me instead of letting me find out the way I did.
I trusted you with everything. You knew I never wanted to love again. I’d been in one relationship… from the time I was fifteen until I was thirty. I had no intention of ever opening myself up to another person. You knew why that relationship ended, and somehow you hurt me in the exact same way. The only difference is… this hurt ten times worse because it was you.
I’ve never felt so broken. You get to a certain point in adulthood where you think you’ve experienced the full spectrum of human emotion. You proved me wrong. I have never felt pain like that, and I hope I never do again.
I’ll love you forever, my baby. I’ll always want the best for you. And if you showed up tomorrow needing me, you know I’d be there. I’d crawl through broken glass to get to you if I had to.
But this is probably for the best. The silence. Both of us pretending we never happened. I’m sure it’s for the best.
I just hope I believe that one day.