Somehow, I thought it would be enough. At the time, it felt like it was, just a few lost words that needed to be said. But as the days dragged on and the pain became overbearing, I realized I had a lot more to say.
In my first letter, I said I was grateful for the time we had. That’s not a lie. If anything, it’s an understatement. I hate that it took you leaving this earth for me to finally say these things. You deserved to hear them sooner. And no, I don’t think it would have changed anything, but you still deserved to know.
You were the first person I ever truly loved, the first person who meant that much to me. And in a way, you still are. What started as something small and silly on Tumblr turned into some of the most magical moments of my life. Over nearly four years, we went through so much together. You were my rock, my support system, my best friend, the most supportive and caring person in my life. You helped me through some of my hardest moments.
We found each other at such an important time, and I don’t know how I would have gotten through everything without you. You made me laugh, you made me smile, you made me blush. You brought out good things in me. You gave me confidence. You gave me a reason to be.
Even though we parted because of our insecurities, I know you changed me for the better in so many ways. You taught me how to love. You showed me that caring deeply for someone is a beautiful thing. You taught me to be myself, even when I felt like I wasn’t enough.
You were so goofy, honestly the biggest doofus I’ve ever met. Your jokes were ridiculous, your thoughts completely unfiltered, and I loved you so much for that. You were such a unique soul, and I’m so grateful I got to know every version of you.
After we ended, I spent so much time focusing on the hurt that I never fully appreciated all the good you brought into my life. I’m so sorry I never made it clear how happy you made me, despite everything. There were so many good moments, and I need you, somehow, to know that.
In the years that followed, I gave you a lot of grief. And I see now that, in many ways, that wasn’t fair. You tried to keep something alive between us, and I pushed it away. At the time, it felt like the right decision. I needed to put myself first, but grief does something strange when someone is no longer here to hear what you still need to say.
I never thought I owed you more than the distance I gave you. But I did. And I see that now. I hate that these realizations come too late. I hate that it’s no longer a matter of whether I would say these things, but that I can’t. You’re not here to hear them. Not here to read them. I hate that you’ll never know.
I hate that you’re no longer in this world. I hate that you had so much ahead of you that you’ll never get to experience. Even though that future wasn’t with me, you had something good, and you deserved that. I’m so glad you found her. I’m glad your last years were filled with love. I just wish you had more time to live it.
This past week has been a tsunami of complicated, conflicting emotions. I’ve spent nearly every moment revisiting the time we shared, every memory, good and bad. And yes, the hard moments were difficult, but the good ones warmed my soul all over again.
I reread our messages. I laughed. I reminisced. I relived it all, this time without regret. Because it was all meaningful. It made us who we were.
A part of me feels strange acknowledging all of this now, not just because you’re gone, but because you had someone else in your life. Someone who mattered deeply to you. And I almost feel like I don’t have the right to grieve you this way.
But grief doesn’t follow rules. It pulls you back to the last version of someone you knew and places you right there, as if nothing ever ended. And I find myself back in those moments, wishing things had gone differently, wishing they hadn’t ended at all.
I’ve even caught myself wondering, selfishly, if things had been different between us, would that have changed anything. Would it have kept you here longer.
I know how irrational that is. We had both moved on. It took so much work to get there. And now it feels like I’ve hit some kind of reset button, like I have to go through parts of that process all over again.
Maybe it will be easier this time. But in other ways, it’s harder, because this time, you don’t get to move forward at all. And I think that’s the most painful part. Whether we ended or continued, it doesn’t matter now. You don’t get any more moments.
I wish I were a spiritual person. I wish I believed in something beyond this life. I’ve been told it makes grief easier, to imagine where someone has gone, to feel like they’re still somewhere.
But the last time we spoke, I don’t think you really knew either.
So I sit here hoping, just hoping, that there is something more for you. That somehow, you’re still somewhere. Whether it’s a presence we can’t see, or a small, shining speck in the sky, the idea that you still exist would make this a little easier.
But if there’s even a chance that you can hear or see this, just know that I am so sorry. That I loved you fully. That I am so, so grateful for the time we shared.
You meant more to me than you will ever know.
And I just wish I had told you while I still had the chance.
I never thought I’d find myself back here, but it felt appropriate.
A letter to you, M.
Earlier this week, photos of us appeared in my Photos app. My phone had saved a bunch of old photos from past messages, and I was surprised to find them. But I deleted them with minimal heartache. I’d finally reached a point where I could.
It made me think of you briefly. Later, realizing I was seeing Hayley Williams in concert this week made me think of you a second time that day. I wondered if you had seen her in Atlanta. I figured you might have.
So I got curious. I went to Facebook and searched your name. I had removed you from my friends list a few years ago to help myself move on, so your name didn’t immediately appear. I typed it into the search bar and hit enter.
What I wasn’t prepared for was your photo, followed by an obituary.
My body froze. My heart dropped. It couldn’t be.
But it was. And you’re gone. I’ve reread it countless times since then. How? Why? You should have had more time. You deserved so much more in this life. You seemed happy. You seemed to finally be where you wanted to be. I hope you were.
Mourning you in this way is something I never expected. It’s been years. We had both moved on with our lives. But the tightness in my chest is so, so real. Every memory I have of you came flooding back. I’ve thought only of you all week.
I reread some of our old messages. I found one where you mentioned how you feared death—leaving this earth too soon. That one hurt.
But in rereading everything, I know that I did love you then. And as complicated and messy as our relationship became, I’m still so grateful to have had the time with you that I did. You were my best friend. I’ll cherish that forever.
I hope there is an afterlife. I hope that somehow, somewhere, you’re with your dad, throwing darts and tossing back beers.
We had our time, and it ended—but yours didn’t have to. I am so sorry this happened to you. You’ll always hold a place in my life and in my heart.
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
stormborns
ellievsbear
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
