Sometimes I really want to write you a letter. Or a hundred. Just keep writing and writing and writing until I pour my heart out completely. But you’d never get it. You never have.

I spent years grieving our breakup. I still am. I walked away because I couldn’t stand feeling lonely next to you any more. But I tried to love you so hard.

You used to laugh at me, not with me. I still feel that pain and wonder if you ever felt that from others. I tried to hurt you back but every time I did I hurt myself too. I hated being mean.

You got on just fine. You made it sound (in your diary from Ireland) that your life was over and that you couldn’t live without me, but look at you now. You are a Buddhist. You are a tea crafter and a vegan cook. Good riddance, me.

Are you going to marry your girlfriend? I wish you all the best. I wonder how many times you held her and counted your blessings that I left you. She is beautiful.

Do you think about me ever? I still think about you a lot. I always will. But I don’t think I made a mistake.