A Letter Never Written

After five years of no contact, here’s what I have to say to you:

I’ve been in many houses turned to homes but I must admit - your home still feels like my home. I often wonder how it looks like right now. Did you move out? Is someone else living there? Is my absence still bouncing back and forth between the walls?

Have you felt the change? The having to get used to a new life, without me, without US. I don’t think you miss me, no, but I do think you wonder.

What would have happened if circumstances were different? If maybe you never got sick of me, got sick of US.

I’ve given up on trying to figure out what it was. Somedays I know and others I don’t. Somedays my mind lingers and wonders until it gets tired but I’ve always known in the back of my head, it had never been love.

If it had been, you would’ve held me. You’ve only touched me.

If it had been, you would’ve listened. You’ve only heard me.

If it had been, you would’ve felt me. You’ve only kissed me.

We were close though. You were close. I believed it was going to happen someday. That someday I could be bare, raw and you’d still smile in awe.

That someday I could be quiet and the silence would never have to feel heavy.

That someday I could not try and yet it would still be enough.

Am I crazy? Have I gone completely off? It can’t be that I’m selfish because nothing was ever one-sided from my end.

Who made sure your sheets were made every single morning? Who made sure the house was clean before you even stepped foot?

I shouldn’t have, I knew I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it. I wanted some sort of proof. I wanted it to be my home as much as it was yours.

If I hadn’t tried so hard, maybe you would’ve held me. Maybe you would have listened or felt me. Maybe it would have been US in your home still feeling like my home.

I’ve been meaning to tell you this but I do really regret US. I was a different shade of bare and raw for you, a different shape.

My silence was your boredom, it was just never entertaining enough. I had to go beyond trying and still fail because I was the wrong one trying for you.

Who is the right one? Why had she been lingering in my head for so long? She’s this mystery buried deep within me and I often long to become her friend. To find out what it is about her and about me that makes her worth it.

I know that’s wrong of me to say. And that I shouldn’t think it, and that I shouldn’t do it but when your home slips right in between your fingers, you feel the change.

It rips out pieces of you, pieces that you’ve built and established, pieces that you’ve nurtured and grown.

Why do you kill the very thing that took time? The trust build upon foundations of hard rock.

It seemed impossible but you did it. Nothing lingers with you. Nothing bounces off the walls.

You watch pieces being ripped apart and never feel the change.

I’ve been meaning to tell you this but I’ve found a brand new home. I’ve been the perfect shade of bare and raw for this home, the perfect shape.

The walls vibrate in my energy, they welcome the very essence of who I am.

They’ve watched me rebuild the pieces and have stood eagerly embracing the change.