I'm feeling kind of anxious, writing this in a Starbucks here in our hometown, with two women in their (most likely) late fifties enjoying what looks like matcha green tea latte, sitting adjacent from where i sit. not to mention the woman on my left outside (i'm by the glass wall) who gratefully seems busy with her phone.
There's a reason the first paragraph was that long, because I know you'll never get to read this, albeit there might be a small chance I exude a moment of vulnerability and send you the link, but seeing as to how your last message was "fuck you, leave me alone." the chances of that happening are as close to me getting hit by lightning.
But, in the small chance that you would...
I can't recall the person who told me that having something to regret in life is bad, and can result in future problems, but I've always carried that guilt and regret like a backpack in the sahara dessert that seems stitched to my back, and taking it off would just peel the drying skin off my body, bleeding me to death and to my fictional demise.
But nonetheless, this regret I'm referring to is the regret of not treating you well. I feel like I've done nothing but give you trauma and unnecessary suffering in your life. I've come to realize (when it was already too late) how much I behaved like a total fool, and took your love for granted.
I'm sorry it took me a really long time to realize how wrong I was for acting the way I did towards you, when all you wanted was to just fulfill my lifelong dream of marrying my first love. I wasn't yours, and in some ways it hurt, but it was something at the time was effortless to overlook.
I remember how we started. I literally let go of a relationship where I was to settle. Don't get me wrong, I loved Pau, I did. For the first time, I didn't feel like I would be the one leading the relationship to new experiences, and for once that was nice, but I was willing to let go of everything just to have a chance with you, because that's how long I've loved you. Through the unknown, carelessly clutching ignorance at the same time, I loved you from the very beginning.
And I continue to love you. I think of you whenever I come back home. I stopped parking outside your house, in hopes that you'd come out and catch me, and strike a conversation and try again because I realized how creepy that was, and I'm sorry.
I guess in a way, whenever we talked and I kept telling you "I'm not here to try and get back together" there was a part of me that knew it was the only way to still keep you in my life. That I asked nothing but the bare minimum and having the thought of trying again, I knew it would remind you of the horrendous times I put you through.
God, I can barely remember the good times we had. I forgot how much I made you laugh, I can't remember when I had your interest, and that you adored me. I loved your attention. I craved for it. Until the time it started becoming troublesome for a reason that bewilders me up until this day as to how it started.
Okay this is getting kind of long for a letter I know you'll never get a chance to read anymore anyways. But let me end it with this.
In every universe, in every reality, I know I'll love you in every single one of them. And I hope that in at least one of them, We're both happy. I hope that I get to be the best "worth the wait" person for you. I hope I get to be the one to carry you when you're too tired to be strong. I hope I get to be the one to hug you after a stressful meeting. I hope I get to be the one to fuck you good, and tell you how beautiful you are, and that it matters even if you hear it from other people on a regular basis. I hope I get to be the one to brew you coffee before your day starts. I hope you get to be the one Friday calls her "loving mother". I hope, if it's not possible in this universe, that somewhere out there, we found each other, at a time where nothing made sense.
Our love will be my biggest regret I let go.
