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It’s been so long since I’ve written to you, but I haven’t forgotten. No, of course I couldn’t forget. Even after getting rid of the messages I wrote for you, I still remember. All of those memories, every feeling etched into those lonely words…
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It was all so precious, because you read them.
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I knew you read them, that you accepted such an amalgamation without any second guesses…
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And yet… Yet…
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Why did I discard those words? Was it too much to take, too painful to be oh-so-exposed? To be laid bare in such a manner, to be faced with all of the inadequacies and all at once… No, that wouldn’t have stopped me, even if letting those emotions bleed upon the pages was a painful thing to do.
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It hurt, writing that. It hurt to smile at how stupid it was, and laughing at my own sorry words… Ah, it’s painful to even recall the memory. Even still, I don’t want to forget. I can’t forget.
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Yes, and even now I remember that the words went pale at the enormity of what they were supposed to represent. The more there were, the more inadequate they felt. It was such a pointless attempt. Naïve, even.
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Why write down what we both knew? Why did I attempt to skewer the moments to a page? Perhaps it was for myself, when it should have been for you. And so, I discarded those precious words…
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I regret it. I regret it. I regret it.
I regret it. I regret it. I regret it.
I regret it. I regret it. I regret it.
I regret it. I regret it. I regret it.
I regret it. I regret it. I regret it.
I regret it. I regret it. I regret it.
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It’s yet another regret upon the heap I’ve accumulated in my lifetime, but this one… Upon reflection, it cuts so much deeper than the rest! How could I miss that spark you gave those words? How could I, the same person who shouldered a half of that promise, how could I, how could I—
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How could I be so stupid?
