One Million Tiny Things

Dear James

Dear James,

I don't know what to say to you.

No, I do, I just don't know how to say it.

A text seemed too personal. Too much like the old days when I'd drop you a message just to tell you I had a bagel for lunch.
I didn't want to call you. Your voice would make me question my choices all over again and I'm not ready for that.
So, I'm writing you this letter. A scrapy piece of paper as my way of apologising.

I really am sorry. I never meant to choose my dreams over you but when the offer came from LA, it was too good to pass. I know I never gave you time to say goodbye but trust me, that was because I never wanted that to be goodbye. I didn't think for a moment that it would be the last time we'd see each other.

Maybe a part of me hoped you'd run down to the airport and kiss me like in the films. Maybe I hoped that we could do the long-distance thing and come out of this together.

There were a lot of maybes at the time but there is something I know for sure now.

I was wrong. I'll admit that

If you think that I'm happy here, you're wrong. For a moment, I was. I had new friends, my own office, a perfect house and a brand new car.
But now, I'd trade it all just for the life I had with you. I really didn't realise what I had until it was gone.
The worst part is that I know I have no right to feel like this. I cut the string, I wrecked our ship, I broke us apart but it was still the hardest thing I ever did.

When I close my eyes, I can see you walk to the door and pick up this letter. You'd shake the envelope to see if it was heavy bills. Then you'd search for the scissors to cut it open but halfway through the search you'd get frustrated and just tear it open. We never could find anything in our place.
You'd sit down on our garage sale couch and start reading. Halfway through you'd start picking at the threads of the couch, the way you used to when you concentrated.
But, even my imagination cannot gauge your reaction. You'll have to tell me that. It's been a year exactly, hasn't it? Are you happy to hear from me? Or sad? Angry?
I don't know.

But sometimes in the middle of the night, I wonder if it's all different. Whether you sold the couch, sent away the coffee maker we stole from Mrs. Cadge and threw out the post-its we pasted every morning on the fridge. And on the worst days I wonder if there's someone new. Someone who hugs you every morning, someone who pushes back the glasses as they slide down your nose, someone who interwines their hand with yours as you walk down the road.

I stay up all night just to wonder if you've moved on.

It's almost Christmas. You always loved this time of year. At 12.00am on December 1st you'd call me up every year just to wish me a happy Christmas month. This year I stayed up till 12.00 hoping you'd still call. 12.00 turned to 1.00 and then to 2.00, but my phone didn't ring. Do you call somebody else up now?

I know I'm too late. I know that I'm completely in the wrong but I miss you. I miss you so much, in a way that words can't explain. It's always the small things. The way your face would light up when you saw me. How you'd make a special sundae every Sunday because it was your free day. The birthday gifts you'd pile up outside my door. The midnight calls. The ice creams. The walks.

Everything hits me all at once and I'm left wishing that I'd never let you go.

But, I can't turn back time. Neither of us can. I still believe that we were made for each other and nothing, not even a thousand miles, could stop me from loving you.

With regret,
Claire