Twenty-Eight Stamps [#Wattys2017] || ✓

the t w e l f t h letter

Dear Hunter,

3am. I just looked over at the alarm clock on my bedside table, the one you fixed for me with tape and superglue, and it's 3am. I'm still awake, pen in hand, writing these stupid bloody letters to you that I know I won't have the courage to send. I realise that you're asleep somewhere, probably beside some girl who's ten times better than me and dreaming about something happy. You've moved on and I understand that.

I still like to think that you wonder about me sometimes, though, in the same way that I wonder about you every day.

I'm twenty now; it was my birthday last month. That means that you're twenty too, and you have been since December. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd forgotten mine, but I didn't forget yours. How could I? A bunch of my friends I met in college are married now, some with children and harmonic families of their own. I'm their unfortunate juxtaposition, sat in the bedroom of my lonely apartment with the lamp flickering on the desk, heartbroken over some idiot who broke up with me three years ago, just wishing he'd hold me again. Writing these dumb things that are a mere waste of my time. I don't know why I'm bothering any more.

Maybe it's just for something to do, since I lost my job at the bakery we used to visit together.

Right now, I'm not in the emotional position to find myself a new job. Look at what you've done, Hunter, look at what you've done to me. It doesn't feel like I'll ever return to normal, and I want to slap you, and I want to track you down at kiss you at the same time. I hate it.

I was supposed to be continuing with the story of us in this letter, but I had to get that out of my system, even if it's just empty phrasing on a page that will remain unsent until I die. I don't feel any better, though.

All my love, always,
Maia.