Troyler One-Shot Collection

♦Over My Shoulder♦️

I was in a mood.

Also I hate weddings.

November 18, 2015:

For you,

I've always been told that writing is the one way I can fully express my emotions, even if I have a hard time putting them to words when I try to say them.

The thing is, I was always positive that that particular concept only applied to songwriting; as it turns out, writing in general is very therapeutic, because it lets you organize your thoughts, putting them together, and weaving them in infinite strands of letters and words that tell a story, and describe everything you feel, see, hear, smell, and taste (though not so much that last one). It lets you tell a story, no matter how it starts, how it ends, how it goes, and how it stops. It allows you to express exactly what you're feeling, and say what needs to be said without actually saying them.

With that being said (written), I guess you can understand why I'm writing this letter.

And yes: you, the person reading this over my shoulder, from wherever you exist at the moment, this is about you. But I think you already know that full well.

First and foremost: I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that things happened the way they did, I'm sorry things spun out of control far before we even realized it, I'm sorry I couldn't switch places with you right now, and most of all, I'm sorry that I ever met you. Sounds horrible, awful, and bitter, but it's the truth; things might've ended differently for the both of us, if that were the case. You might still be here, if not by my side, but enjoying your life and living it to the fullest, because that was something you knew how to do all too well. I may not get to cherish you in the way I would've wanted to, had this happened, but you'd still be here. That's all that matters. That's all that would matter.

I'm no longer glad I said hi.

But it doesn't matter: because it's too late to go back and change what happened. It's too late to change one little thing, one tiny, minuscule choice, that could ultimately bring you back. It's too late.

If I were a time machine, and if I were a movie screen, I'd go back and tell myself to run (( if you caught that I love you )). Run far and fast, and avoid you, because surely we wouldn't be where we are right now, with you gone and me only half here, living half a life without you. It sounds horrible, especially since I'm still not sure you actually regret knowing me - though how could you not? - but it's the truth. The full, unadulterated truth, and since you're probably reading this right now and I'm literally unable to utter the words aloud, I thought I'd do us both a favor and write it all out for you. Trust me, I need to get this off of my chest too, even if it hurts me in the process.

But that's okay: because I'm already damaged, broken beyond repair.

But that doesn't matter, in the eyes of anyone else, does it? Because I'm still here - I should be okay - and you're not. I could've been you, long gone, and never coming back, but I've been instead handed the insufferable option of being here, lingering, suffering, aching with half a heart and the constant need to crawl into a hole and pretend that none of this ever happened, because supposedly I'm okay. I'm okay. Everyone says I'm okay, because I have no reason to be okay, since I'm here, and you're gone, unable to torment me any longer.

So, why does that feel like such lie?

November 21, 2015:

For you,

I swear, this was meant to only take a few minutes, and one last note, but I couldn't leave it at that. I couldn't continue on with the first one from three days ago without wanting to concave in on myself, yet I just couldn't let it be, and let this be my final departing with you.