Breaking up, in my experience, can either be a somewhat easy thing to do or an utterly devastating one. In my case with you, it was the latter.
How are you? Are you dating someone right now? How did it feel to break a heart? Did mine leave your hands bloody? are the four questions I'm dying to ask you right now if you have bothered replying to any of the several 'Hey's I had mustered all my courage to type and send your way. But you didn't, so I just tucked all those questions inside my pillow and carry on like nothing ever happened.
I hope you're well, I really do. Unfortunately, I have no idea how you're doing right now, and I bet you don't even care how, out of all people, I'm doing.
To be honest, you were the only person whom I'd voluntarily let get that close to me. We ordered coffee and made fun of strangers sitting around us, we nonchalantly made political jokes, we sneaked kisses in bookstores and cinemas. At that time, I thought (and boy, I couldn't be more wrong) I had finally found someone to walk with, someone to ride the roller coaster of life with.
I could still clearly remember how you looked as I pulled a bouquet of red and white roses: how your eyebrows arched, then how your eyes lit up, and immediately your lips made a lopsided smile; then the smile slowly made its way to your eyes, wrinkling the sides of your eyes and pulling your cheeks up. And the next thing I knew, your lips were on mine and your arms slithered around my back. But I guess you totally forgot about that now.
I fully understand chatting like a friend--like nothing has ever happened between us--is impossible. But is it that hard to annually text each other Happy Birthday? The whole world could congratulate me on how I managed to survive one Earth's full revolution around the Sun, but if you didn't, I couldn't care less.
Isn't it ironic how two people who were desperately trying to be as close as possible have now become two people who are trying their hardest to be strangers? I find it painfully peculiar and I hope you do, too.
You know what? I have no idea where I'm going with this letter. The more I write, the more miserable I become (and the more you know how low I've fallen). So I will end this letter here before I humiliate myself even further.
With much love,
Just another stranger.
