Chances are this letter will probably never be sent to you and it will end up in my recycle bin but I’m not writing for you. I’m writing for me because i need to put my thoughts into words. I guess that’s the beauty of having been a thirteen year old who used to love curling up in bed with a good book or spending hours and hours on picking a name for the protagonist in your next novel. Even though i stopped writing novels and allowing myself the luxury of living in a fantasy world saturated with good grammar and composing a perfectly worded break up scene. Sometimes, it would break my heart to write those scenes and tears would roll down my cheeks at three am. I wish that the only heartbreak i experienced was the pain that came with knowing that your character would breathe her last breath in the arms of her lover. I don’t know why i lost my passion for writing but i pray to the God above and hope that eradicating the memories of you that i still remember so vividly will be as easy as it was to lose my motivation to write. I remember so vividly, the warmth of you and the way your breath felt against my skin but soon calm was over and the storm hurried our way and before i could catch my breath, you were breathing down my neck and pointing out my flaws. Between the swearing and punching walls out of anger and shame, we found reasons to stop loving each other. For days on end, i found reason after reason to blame myself but many arguments and tons of cussing later, i no longer blame myself. I may have drove you crazy with my flaws but i believe that one i will find a love that will embrace my flaws and understand their origins. I also believe that with patience and gentle love, i will find reasons to trust again and open myself wholly. As for you, i hope that one of these days, i find the courage to forgive you.