Dear Long-lost Lover,
I don’t even know why’d I pick up a pen and begin writing to you. As Liccione said, “Even a rock moves on.” I don’t disagree. But do I want you back? Maybe I’ll figure out now.
It’s been 3 years since we ended things. For good? I quite can’t say. Because I suffered a trauma back then. And today, I still get nightmares.
People are naïve romantics when young. They don’t realize how complicated and hurtful things can get over time. And breakups don’t come easy either. Apart from a partner, we also lose a friend in him. Additionally, a part of ourselves which has the ability to love, trust and hold on.
Occasionally, I wonder how you sleep at nights. Whether tightly spooning your new companion, or simply falling asleep on the couch, being so tired to even remove your shoes after a long day at work.
I wonder a lot of silly things.
I wonder if things would’ve worked between us, could today we’d be any happier? Or would be still struggling like before – longing to escape from one another.
But, I hope things are going well for you. I hope that you got the expected raise. I hope your mother recovered from frequent nausea, and your father is enjoying his early retirement, and your brother gets into his dreamt grad college.
So what we aren’t together! We don’t wake each other up in the middle of a night. We don’t call on birthdays anymore. We don’t care like before. But, do we have to sell our souls and give up on our humanity? Because, no matter how short lived any romantic relationship is, its love teaches us kindness, and we need to preserve it.
You mightn’t want to know, but I’m thriving myself. Ever since I’m out of a toxic relationship, I feel much alive. I’m recovering and trying to give life another well-deserved chance.
Despite of the melodramatic previous years, I grew up stronger. I’m glad that life can be this intriguing, and this ridiculously enchanting.
Whilst writing this letter, I feel like I’m withdrawing a huge burden off my chest. I might never post this letter to you. But today, I’m giving away the bitter element of me, the bruised chunk. These extracted dismal words will be enfolded and buried in a bottle, and thrown away in the sea.
Because I owe happiness to me, and I’ll provide it to myself. Otherwise, who else will?
Yours? I don’t think so.