dear zachery,
this is my first letter to you. i don't think you'll ever see them, its more for myself. i've been thinking about you all day, to the point i feel sick. i miss you so fucking much. i miss the hearing your voice and seeing your face everyday. what i wouldn't give to hear your voice just once more.
i told you once before how you saved me. i've been sick for so long. i've been hurting for so long. i've always believed myself to be incapable of being loved. i wanted to die for so long. and i had so many reasons to keep living. but the truth is, i never cared about any of those till i met you.
you were and always will be my first love. i was so scared that i was never enough. and maybe i wasn't. i don't know.
the last night we spent together replays in my mind like a broken record. it was my birthday. all of my friends had cancelled on my dinner, except one. you had texted me at 9:37 pm, asking me to come over so we could catch up. and i did. i drove 45 minutes, all the while so incredibly sick to my stomach. we watched the lorax. you said our house would look like audrey's, and i too would have my own space to paint. you told me you still loved me. and i believed you.
the next morning, you blocked me as soon as i got home. why? what did i do wrong?
i guess thats what i get for being stupid enough to forgive you. i let you back into my life, and was ready to forget everything you had done thus far. was it all a lie? did you say it all for sex? these questions haunt me at the most arbitrary of times. and i pray to a god i don't believe in that it wasn't.
the days have gotten easier since then. with the exception of ones like today. i dreamed of you last night. i dreamed that you were with someone else, and that you were happier with them. id rather you be not happy at all than happy with someone else. and i know its so selfish to think that way. but at least its honest.
i didn't mean it when i said i hated you. i don't hate you. i could never hate you. rather, i hate myself for still loving you. after everything you've said, after everything you've done.
i could write thousands of love poems, and none would ever amount to describing what i feel for you. and i hate myself for it.
i don't know what else to say for now. i'm very tired. i'm going to go to bed.
love jane
