I know I’ve had my flings with different men but none of them came close to filling the emptiness you left inside of me.
You don’t deserve my love letters. We both know this. But you are the only one I can write sincere love letters to. You are the only one I hopelessly love without rhyme or reason.
You are always on my mind, in some capacity. The default I compare the others to. It’s not right, I know, you are perfect in my memory. Even though I am painfully aware that you really are not.
I miss our talks. The hours of talking about everything and nothing. Just knowing that you were on the other side was enough for me. I miss sharing myself with you. Sharing my day and my thoughts. Venting when I needed to. The gentle way you listened and validated with your sweetness. The sweetness that oozed out naturally because it was me.
I miss how different you were with me. You could be moody, irritable, and distant with everyone else, but utter putty with me. You would share your most intimate thoughts and feelings, divulge your secret shames and desires, knowing that I would embrace each and every one without blinking twice. Because that’s who I am in love.
I miss the romantic you were. The side you had long forgotten about but started growing and blossoming again when you found me. The beautiful stories and messages you wrote, the hope in your voice, the tenderness in which you addressed me. How you couldn’t stop telling me how much you loved me, every day, several times a day.
I miss how you started to glow. You smiled more. Your eyes shone brighter. You felt calmer. You looked forward to the mornings and nights. You giggled and laughed and your lust became insatiable. Just like me.
I miss wanting you so bad that I couldn’t see straight. I miss how badly you wanted me. The naughty way we spoke to each other. I miss how you could read me and my cues, because you were feeling the same way.
I miss your hazel eyes and the adoring way they looked at me. The awe in them, that I was in love with you. That I chose you, like you couldn’t believe it. The way you studied me like I was a rare antique, requiring the greatest of care and respect when being admired.
I miss how shy you got with me. The cute way you would shake your head and close your eyes whenever I complimented you. The goofy smile. The way you loved when I called you my nerd. That will always be your special name. Just as I will always be your wolf.
I realize I’m pouring all these memories out, for anyone and everyone to read, but the only one who really matters is you. You are the one I write to. The one I wish would return to me. It always goes back to you.
I’m sorry if these words make your life difficult. I don’t know if you still read my words or if you have stopped. I know it’s not right for me to love you and that loving each other hurt everyone involved, including ourselves.
Maybe you are hoping I’ll move along, forget about you, just like you are trying to forget about me. I’ve never been as good at compartmentalizing as you are. Obviously. If you are waiting for me to get completely over you, you are going to have to wait until I die.
I wish things were different. But I know the reality. I’m here and you are there. But how I miss you so. I always hated saying goodbye to you, always holding my breath and wondering if this time would be the last time we spoke. I don’t miss that uncertainty. But I always, always miss you.