I have this letter she wrote me from two summers ago. It’s still in the same white envelope she sent it in. I haven’t read it in awhile, but it’s one of the most precious pieces of the past that I own.
There was something so raw and wildly passionate about that friendship. I’d never experienced those feelings anywhere else. And then I woke up one day and decided I was better off without this mess. I told you that.
You knew I was making a mistake. A mistake that when I came back to make amends for, you left the glass door closed.
I will confess that I never thought this would all end. These explosive arguments were forgiven in the past with apologetic late night conversations. But that last night, you drew the line and as much I scaled the walls you threw up, they would not cave.
And here I am, about to return to the city within a short couple days, with you and me belonging to a pool of bittersweet memories.
I’m more sorry than you will ever understand. But your words were: “too late”.