By the Riverside

IV. A Letter For Victoria

My dearest Felicia Victoria,

As you read this letter, I have probably already left. Running away, finding a place where I could completely feel that I belonged.

Though I knew that was far-fetched.

However, before I do, I want to give you a sincere and proper goodbye. I know everything is sudden. I know you deserve to hear from me in person. Where I could see your angered expression, where I could face every sin that I made. But at this very end, I am a coward; I would never get rid of this fear that everything I built out of my selfish fantasies would just be ruined.

I’m sorry.

I am not the type of guy I made you think I was. I guess you’ve already figured that from the very first night we met. From the very first time I touched you; from the very first time I lied; from the very first time you bore yourself to me but I couldn’t do the same.

I’ve always seen life as an endless charade, where I would be the bruised flesh, waiting patiently to be cured. You were the first and only person I thought who could do it — who could heal me. But I was wrong. I was great at it — at putting up an act — after all, at this moment while you are lying peacefully in my bed, also waiting for my futile return, I’m still putting up a pretense. That way, everything I did wasn’t as vicious as I thought it was.

You must want to ask me the last night we talked: why did I never tell you the truth? It wasn’t because I was afraid you might want to resent me. It also wasn’t because you might not accept me. It also wasn’t because of anything that you might think of. It’s simple — I just didn’t want to accept the truth myself.

Because if I’ll be truthful to you, that will also mean that I’ll be honest with myself. And honesty would just ruin my guise.

It would reveal the lie that I’ve repeatedly told myself as well — that I loved you.

I’m sorry.

I know repeating the same two letters here would mean nothing if I didn’t mean it. I am not really sorry, Victoria. That I used you. That I made you my anchor. That I sought your comforting touch to calm the chaos in me. To make my life at least smooth sailing. To make me forget everything about him.

As much as you are a blessing, you are also a curse. Why did you have to be a lot like him? The way you touch me. The way your cheeks turn into this soft tint of pink when you’re flustered. The way your eyes look anywhere but my face when I tell you sweet nothings. The way you kiss my forehead to comfort me. The way you stomp your feet to the ground when you’re irritated. The way you listen to my chattering every time we drive down the whole city. The way you go along with my crazy plans. The way you giddily write your emotions in your journal. The way you sang me my favorite song on that beach. The way you simply existed. Everything about you.

It reminded me of him.

You are a blessing. You held me close when I was desperately searching for a drive to keep going. You made me feel that I could be anything in your presence. Just when I was about to drown myself with alcohol on that riverside, jump, and leave everything behind, you arrived like the saviour that I very much needed.

But you are a curse. Why do you, my saviour, have to be just like him? Why do you act like I have no other choice but to settle for someone who acts exactly like him, which is, in every way, acceptable to my parents. Why do you, the very person urging me to fly freely, be myself, damn everything, have to remind me each day of that? You who is the safer option to not make me feel like the failure that I really am.

When we attended that wedding, I could no longer keep pretending. Everything just burst out of me like a bomb and it made me realize something: you deserved better.

You were right all along. I was still in love with my ex, Armani Laithe Herman. Not Danielle, but Armani. Not you, but Armani. The waiter in my restaurant. I’ve kept him closer to me all this time. And although it was only to keep me sane, I realized that now that I’ve completely lost him, I can never be fixed.

You don’t deserve a delusive bastard like me.

So I’m leaving. Like the coward that I am. I’m freeing you.

I’m sorry.

I never felt the same way when you poured your heart and soul into me. All was just a painful reminder of my past. Don’t look for me. Don’t follow me. Don’t cry as I bid you my last goodbye. Instead, take away all of those you poured on me and fill yourself. Hate me. Resent me until your last breath. That’s the only way I can atone for all the deceptions I did.

Save yourself, Victoria.

For I never once thought that I’d ever be saved since the day we met by the riverside.

And I am not kind enough to ask you to run away with me again.

I really, truly love you. But not in a way that you expect me to. I cannot pour the same love you gave, because I have long been emptied by my love for someone I can no longer have.

Go. Live your life without me. You no longer have to keep following me. Keep riding the waves. Build a mountain where both the ocean and the river are connected. Be selfish. Chase your dreams. Without me.

This might sound ironic coming from the man who has ever really deceived you. But believe me, this is the truest thing I could say.

This is my last goodbye, Victoria.

From the very end, I never regretted anything. I’ll be watching over you wherever the ripples bring me.

Yours truly,
Johandrille