I remember us like it was yesterday. I sat at the bottom of the stairs and you stood, leaning against the wall staring at me. The pain was raging inside us like a knife slowly piercing the outer layer of our heart. We were already cut open. We were already banged up and wounded, but now we were bleeding out. Our grief became so deafening that words, still to this day couldn’t accurately describe that very moment. Both of our eyes were full of lost hope. Our hearts were so shattered. You had your reasons, and I had mine. Silence would consume the air. It was as if my soul and conscious stepped out of my physical being and stared back at my wilted body. I was reaching for touch while you grasped for air. Our love died before we could comprehend it. We played out best case scenarios and discussed life plans. I remember you said that you needed to go and maybe it meant that you’d one day come back, and we’d find our way again. I held onto that for so long—that we’d find our way again. Despite the hesitation of what path you and I would take next, in the end, the story was always suppose to end the same— It was going to be you and I.

I’d come home every day to find a piece of you gone. Your toothbrush, a few clothes the next day… and by the end of the month your side of the bed was empty. The house fell apart. Painfully. Slowly. And somehow quickly. You threw our old photos in a box, and left it behind. I buried it deep in storage, away from reality— and that’s where we’d be sitting in, a box dusted over somewhere in the dark. I came home every night from work thinking we’d debate what we’d have for dinner and we’d end up at our usual, Kiki’s. I’d wait for you to come home and the garage door never opened. I sat on those very stairs and buried myself into my hands— into my pain. Little did I know ten years of memories would begin to haunt me every night. I’d hug your pillow and whatever was left of your scent, hugged me back. I’d close my eyes and drift away from exhaustion. And when morning came, I’d turn around and reach for you only to find myself covered in tissues, make up stained pillows, and in the same clothes I went to work in the day before. I’d stare at your closet door, finally build enough courage to open it— only to find dust and empty hangers where you used to leave your belongings, then I’d quickly shut it. I blanked out. I’d stare for hours at wherever your presence left a mark. Day, after day, after day. I did this for an entire year.

I didn’t know it then—I didn’t know that you’d never come back home— that for the rest of my life, since that moment on the stairs, I would be crying myself to sleep. I didn’t know the grief that lied beside me— or worse, in me. Loss is a pain that resonates so deeply. A pain I can’t describe. A sharp hurt piercing through your heart—numbing your entire being. Like falling into freezing waters— I was drowning, reaching for you, and I just kept getting deeper into the darkness. But at the same time, you couldn’t save me. You were so far gone. I resented it then but I understand it now. How could someone who was struggling to survive try to give life to someone else? We were both bleeding out.

I was losing you while I was losing myself; we were losing ourselves.

There's a part of me that always stayed close, waiting for the phone to ring. Anxiously anticipating a hello. And even after the hours pass, I’d still wait. I was starving for your attention. The hours grow to weeks, and before I can even grasp, it had been a month. Where did the time go? How was I surviving? Checking my phone every five minutes turns to every five hours. When I finally found the courage to sleep without your ring in my hand, when I’d finally get a routine again, when the grieving softened, and when I can go through a whole entire day without...

My phone rings.

The string of text messages you left me became my lifeline. I held tightly onto a year of possibility. I was begging you for more time. I went through this vicious cycle of emotional abuse and you went through a resentment raging so deep it burned everything in your path, even me. You had your reasons, and I had mine. I wasn’t ready to believe we were done. I wasn’t ready to accept that this was us. Every couple of months you’d pop up on my phone and proposed a visit. I held onto that hope as if it were my first born child. And when you’d come home I would embrace myself into your hands. My god I loved being in your arms. For a fleeting moment, I believed everything was right—that this was right. We’d lay in our bed and share what life’s been like, and how we think about each other all the time. How blind was I to not see that I was hugging a cold body, a ghost really— you became a physical form of our memories. But it wasn’t you anymore. From your appearance to the way you would look back at me. You were no longer someone I knew—That the love I was holding onto was actually what was slowly disintegrating me. It was no longer our home we were reminiscing in. It became my hell. You’d leave me with the hope that maybe we could do something together, maybe follow up with a dinner because for one split second in our embrace, you came back to me like a patient who was battling dementia. For a split second, it was you and I again.

So I would wait.
And I’d never hear from you.
And we’d repeat this, for months.

The sun would rise and I went about life as if nothing happened. Sometimes I think I was hallucinating. It was as if I was being held captive in our memories. It became the only thing I could see. There’s no way you wouldn’t have called back. You always called back. There’s no way you’d fly out of the country after. Go silent for weeks on end. No one knew the struggle I buried so deep in my smile. No one understood the pain you were battling. Our love was killing us— but my god, when our memory tasted it, it felt like air we so desperately longed for. It wasn’t enough air. We were still suffocating. Still suffering. Your embrace used to heal me—And suddenly it haunted me. Our words became weapons to torture each other, and our love was the ultimate poison we kept drinking from.

Yet, I know you loved me— And it sounds so twisted. But I deeply believe in my heart that I know you loved me. I loved you. I always have, even if it seemed lost. When you got on one knee and proposed, I said yes because you were my best half. You were the missing piece. I didn’t realize that when you decided you needed to leave, I’d forever lose that piece of myself. I’d forever live with an emptiness inside my heart that no words, nor no person could ever fill. I realize today that I can’t search for it because I wont find it. It’s forever lost in that house, in that ring, on those stairs, and on your old front door where we first met. That piece of me is lost in the dinner’s we’d have sitting across from each other sharing our day, the way your hand would hold onto me when the flights got bumpy, or in the way we’d say “love you” every time before you’d leave to work.

We were two kids madly in love. Romeo and Juliette, a lover’s tale. We weren’t perfect, I definitely wasn’t—but the world believed we were. People believed in our love story. Everyone wanted what we had. But no one really knew the demons that were in my heart and the struggle in yours. No one knew how dark it got. The mistakes would blanket over us and we never fully recovered. Our pain would create this concrete wall every night between us. We weren’t even strangers, we had become ghosts. You had your reasons, and I had mine. We’d lose our balance from time to time but we always found our way back. Always…

Until we didn’t.

I slowly built my courage back up and I spent some time finding myself. I became so engulfed in a depression that I truly felt there was no where else to go. It got very dark in my mind but this was my saving grace. As I sat in my grief, I held the pieces of my heart and tried to save myself from bleeding to death. I did something so unlike me and booked a trip for one. I had become so fragile. Fleeing our little bungalow of dreams was more of an outcry for help.

Somewhere in Paris I found the sweet girl you used to adore over. The girl who was so full of life and so vibrant. The girl who used to make you smile. I saw her in the women who were holding their lover’s hands. In the men who used to open doors for their significant other. I saw us in the reflection of others. The separation from reality disconnected me from being reachable. And when your messages would finally come through, I fought with all my might against the temptation to respond. As painful as it was to avoid you, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. It would have been the death of me. I wasn’t envisioning life without you, never, but I was envisioning the woman I wanted you to be proud of. I was envisioning the way you looked at me on the day of our engagement— I wanted you to see that woman again. The woman who was so full of light. Life at this point was better lived in a world where “the idea of us” made me happy again. It wasn’t real but it was enough to revive me. To give me hope that maybe one day it would actually be us in Paris together, holding hands. So I pushed myself far away from every truth. I pushed myself away from the comfort of your affection on those lonely nights. The daydream felt so warm and bright, I avoided anything that would disconnect me from it. The distance that was meant to make our hearts grow “fonder,” pulled us so far apart that for the first time, I believed it was what was going to save me. And hopefully save us.

Little did I know. Some weeks later I’d open a message sent to me from family and everything around me blurred out. I fell to the ground, distraught. I honestly can’t even express into words what I felt. I was at the end of my rope. I couldn’t even react. There was no tears, just a silence enveloping around my heart. A stillness took over my body. I was fading in and out of shock and disbelief. A deep sadness consumed every fiber of my being.

Seeing your wedding photo gave me a sense of direction. In the strangest way, it forced me to face the truth. It wasn’t necessarily anger, because I will always root for you despite the outcome for me—despite it not being me in that white dress. Your marriage allowed me to see that we were never going to find our way back. It was really final. There was no longer the vision of you and I in the end— And though it took me a very long time to see it, truth was, we had already been so far gone. You were damaged from hurt. I was damaged from hurt. You had your reasons, and I had mine. We had been gone since that moment on the stairs, and maybe even before that—but we didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to face it.

I thought time would help and I’d let you go, but the truth is, I’ll never let the love go— and I don’t want to. I will always have a love for you. We shared ten years together. And maybe the last few years wore on us, but I remember how magical the first several were. God we were so in love. My eyes lit up at the sight of you. My heart beamed with such passion for you. I was proud to be yours and I deeply regret not sharing that. It’s a regret I carry for life. There was a big part of us that was once beautiful, loving, and gentle. We fought for each other, time and time again. I will always remember that. I will always cherish your unconditional love when I wasn’t perfect. The few lingering messages you send gives me hope that somewhere deep inside your heart, you too will always have a love for me.

I still tear up every now and then when your name sneaks off my lips. But I gather myself together, and I take a breath in—I’m at peace with our outcome, it doesn’t mean I’m not still tender to touch, but I understand where we’re at now— Our path has taken us thousands of miles away from each other. I can’t change what amounted between us, just like you can’t. With sadness I realize we are no longer the two same kids who fell so madly in love that day I showed up to your house to drop off tires. It took me time to accept that, and to be honest, it’s still something I battle with time to time. But I do believe we’ve both grown immensely since that night on the stairs. We’ve both developed a sense of self, and maybe a more fragile heart—but I’d like to believe that somewhere deep in this loss, we found a different light in ourselves that we didn’t have before. A light we could only give to ourselves.

For what it’s worth, the distance saved us. Our love might’ve broke us apart but I know it also sort of saved us. We cared for each other so deeply that we had to let one another go, for each other. It’s strange how you’ve slowly become a fog, and I battle holding onto it every single day because in the end, I don’t want to lose the memories of you. It’s all I have of us. So, I smile when I think of you because that’s what I want to feel—And I hold onto that lingering piece of possibility that one day we’ll see each other and smile more than anything. We’ll grow older just like our love story does, and one day we’ll come across a photo, or a birthday date and hopefully something sincere will come out from our heart. So this is where I let our love be free. This is where I have to let you go…. I pray every single day that you are healthy, and most of all happy. I pray that she gives you everything you dreamed about. Your happiness is my happiness. Always.

with so much love,
L.