A Letter to a Lost Love

Hey Sweetheart (am I allowed to call you that still?),

It’s midnight here, and I’m sitting in this empty room that’s filled with people absorbed in their own conjugations of lost languages and equations of concepts designed to bring one out of this world, quite literally. The cover of their book reads ‘astrophysics’, a concept as obscure to me as the next fifty years to come without you there to hug me.

Ah, how I miss those hugs, those tender embraces sealed with a kiss on the forehead, a stamp that claimed me as yours. I would chuckle softly and slip my hand into yours, and we would walk off without the world in mind. I miss not thinking of the world and its innumerable problems… I miss that you fixed everything, just with that kiss on the forehead. 

Across from me, there sit two people, as absorbed in each other as I am in the thought of us. They sit with an air of normality, an unclaimed ease that engulfs their togetherness, an aura that lets one know that they in fact are a couple without the obvious, casual cuddling. I miss that, what we had. I miss dating my best friend.

On the other side of the room, I hear a quiet laugh and I’m brought back to the days when you would tickle me just to make me smile, erasing the uneasy sadness that engulfs me sometimes for no reason. There was never a reason for the tears, and there was never a reason for us… and yet here I am, left with a sadness that thoroughly overwhelms me… and left without you. You’re not here to fix me, babe. How I miss not being broken, not sewing myself together with forced grins and masks of laughter, holding onto the idea that if I pretend to be happy, I will one day be so. 

How very ironic it is that the one who fixed me shattered me so thoroughly, though I can’t say I blame you. I can be unbearable, and for that, I apologize. I was gripping onto an idea of love until I suffocated it, killed it, destroyed it and thus destroyed myself. 

But I digress. 

You taught me how to love, babe. I still remember that January night when you pulled me close to you and whispered that you would always care about me, that you would always be there for me, and that if I ever needed you, you would be there in a heart beat. You whispered then, that you loved me, and a powerful surge of euphoria drenched my body. You had set me on fire. 

Do you remember all those nights you laid on top of me, your head resting on my chest as we talked about life and what was to come, about how we would go to college near each other and rent an apartment.. we never got much past that because that’s the dream isn’t it? To live young and unattached with the exception of one titanium thread to your most beloved friend. 

I want to say our love is whole, but yours is gone and I’m left here with an unrequited love of Shakespearean proportions. I want to punch a wall at the sound of your name, just as much as I want to kiss you until I fall asleep. I want to run a thousand laps around the earth until I’ve wound back time until before I met you and hurt so eternally, but I want to fall asleep in your arms. I want to listen to romantic poetry and not write sonnets of heartbreak. I want to watch movies with you, any movie… so long as it’s not horror; I know you hate that. I want to feel safe in your arms again. I want to trust you so unequivocally that if you told me the sky was yellow, I would believe you. I want.. I want what we had. I want our love not to be lost. I want you to come back. 

I guess that makes me weak. Or just heartbroken. Is there a difference? 

They always said writing letters you never mean to send is freeing. This one just makes me more sad. 

Thoroughly yours, 
Too much love, 
Sarah

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I sit absorbing Spanish vocabulary, I cannot remember a single word that I’m meant to learn because you’re the only thing occupying my mind, like an obtuse elephant stubbornly sitting in a puddle. 

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