To this day you’ve probably been the man I’ve loved the most.
I don’t think love is even the right word.
Did I really love you?
Or was I just infatuated with the idea of loving someone who lives exactly 9,743 kilometers away from me?
Dear James, I’m afraid I’ve no answer. I’ve no answer because you never let me figure it out.
I do, however, know you never loved me. You moved on, you texted me one day,
you said “I fell for you for a while”.
For a while.
Have you any idea of how much you debilitated me?
Of course you don’t.
Or do you?
I see the light green, guilty tint in the resonance of your voice.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I unknowingly used you, and I’m sorry. I am eternally sorry for getting lost in your voice when all the other voices in my life directed their hate towards me. I’m sorry I stopped speaking to you when my heart had healed. Please know that if ever I hurt you, it wasn’t because I never saw something in you, but rather because you and I are incompatible. I’m sorry I made out with one of your best friends as some sort of fucked up symbolic statement.
I’m sorry that I never told you how beautiful your letter was, and how my favorite line is “the vicissitudes of coincidence once again conspired against two people”.
I never told you I’m sorry, C, I’m sorry for that too.
Most of all, I’m sorry about how not sorry I am most of the time. Truth be told, I rarely think about you anymore. I hope you can stop thinking of me too.
For you I preserve nothing but disdain
You hurt me,
It still hurts.
Dear you (all three of you),
Funny how time outsmarts me every single time, isn’t it?