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Letter 01/21/22


By Emery PinePublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 6 min read
Letter 01/21/22
Photo by kilarov zaneit on Unsplash


Dear Unnamed,

It’s so funny looking back on how easily and quickly things change. That being said, it’s also sad. It’s hard to think of the happiness that died when you— when we— did. Don’t you think?

Do you remember how we used to drink together constantly? How we’d put on Motown music and I would dance around and spin in circles drunkenly on mixed drinks and joy to the music? How you thought I was endearing and adorable? How you made me those drinks? How we would put on Matchbox 20 and drunkenly sing together? I still have an audio clip on my phone of that exact situation that I forgot existed that I found yesterday. It’s why I’m thinking about this all now. That and the fact that we’ve talked recently for the first time in about a year and my head is still spinning from it. Not because I miss you. I don’t, necessarily. I mean, you’re a good person and I miss the you I knew and all of his and my good times. I wouldn’t want them back, though, despite missing him and those times we shared. I’m happy with where I am at now without you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be reminiscent.

So, being reminiscent:

Do you remember when we smoked on the porch at Justin’s and there were junebugs and I was high and freaked out, so I sat in your lap while you tried to calm me down? What about when your brother and Allison fought and she threw a plate and he stormed off to his room and you tried talking to him and he slammed the door in your face and you got knocked back and fell? How you came back to the room and laid in my arms and just cried and cried? How you trusted me with those tears? How you trusted me with your feelings? With your fragile soul? Because you are fragile, my lovely Unnamed. How we played Bananagrams and you were so fixated on making the biggest words you could? How any time I had to leave to go visit the family, you’d weep and weep because you said you weren’t whole without me? Do you remember how much you needed me? Because you did, whether you want to admit it or not. I know you did. I knew it and that’s all that really matters, I suppose. You can be in denial all you’d like, but I know the truth. Because how could you deny needing me when the idea of me being away made you cry? How could you be whole without me when you said I made you whole? When I would come back and you would throw yourself onto your knees in front of me and wrap your arms around my waist and bury your face into my stomach and cry and just breathe me in, like you couldn’t believe I was real, like I was a lost thing that was more dear to you that your own soul, like you didn’t know where your soul was when I was away, like you couldn’t bare to ever be parted from me again. Do you remember that? How you’d hold onto me like it was physically painful to be away from me even for that week I was away for Thanksgiving? Please tell me that you remember that. It hurts to think that you might not remember that you did truly love me once.

I always loved you more, bur that doesn’t mean you never loved me at all. And you certainly did love me. I loved you so much it shattered my soul a little every day and utterly destroyed me when you left. You loved me in a way that tore you apart in the unhealthiest of ways when I was away. You loved me irrationally, obsessively, madly. You truly did want to love me madly. It makes sense as to why you said your girlfriend says you might not be over me. You did love me. Maybe more than you realized at the time. Do you regret what you did to us? Or at least to me or you? Because you hurt us both. How much does it matter to you?

Do you remember how you would hold me when I cried about Kai and everything else? How you ate the mushrooms out of my food without me asking? How you knew I hated sleeping between you and the back of the couch because it made me claustrophobic, so you would scoot between me and the couch while I was sleeping so I would wake up alright? Do you remember how whenever my back hurt you would sometimes cry just because I was in pain? How much it hurt you to see me in pain? How I would tuck you into the blankets when we were going to sleep? How you kissed my fingers and kissed me an even number on both cheeks? How when you came home from work you would rush to me and throw yourself onto me and wrap me up? How you’d throw blankets over me and said you’ve caught “a wild” me? How you took my phone once without telling me and took a few pictures of yourself as a surprise for me to find later? I still have them. I only have one picture of the two of us. We were together a year and a half and I only have one picture of us to prove it. It makes me sad, but I suppose it is what it is.

I could keep going on and on. There is a world of things I remember that I wonder if you do, too. A world of things that even now make me want to cry because of how bittersweet those memories are— how bittersweet you were. You were sweet, your last actions bitter, and your memory a little bit of both. I could go on and on but I don’t know how to go on when there’s so much to say, to remember. I just hope you remember the good times, too. I don’t want you to be too upset with yourself anymore. I don’t hate you. I’m not even mad at you anymore. I’ve let it go. I’m still working on letting you go, though. Some days I think I’ve done it, but other days like today, I’m not so sure. I’m not caught up on you anymore. I’ve truly moved on. It’s just that thinking of you sends twinges of hurt and joy through me all at once. And maybe that’s how it will always be. That’s how mama makes it sound when she talks about her first true love. That reminds me. Do you remember how you used to say you didn’t think you knew what love was before me? What it was like to love or be loved? Do you remember when you would say I was a blessing? That I was an angel? But, alas, no more. And I’m trying to let that be ok. Still forever and always, part of my heart will be yours, for the memories.



sad poetry

About the Creator

Emery Pine

I’m a poet with sprinklings of fiction. I write with the soul, so I hope you find it interesting and relatable

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