The Words That Made Me

The Letter I Didn't Write

I didn't say I love you,

I didn't say I'm sorry,

I didn't say thank you,

I didn't say goodbye,

I didn't say what to tell my siblings or ask for forgiveness nor did I beg you not ask yourself what you could've done differently.

I didn't say anything because I didn't write the letter.

I wanted to write the letter. I wanted to write the letter and give my goodbye kisses to the dogs and hug you goodnight. I wanted to close my bedroom door and dim the lights, I wanted to turn off my phone and silently fade away in the gentle purple haze of my bedroom; but I didn't.

I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't bring myself to watch you wake up on a perfectly normal tuesday morning. I couldn't bring myself to watch you walk down the stairs and make your beautifully munane cup of coffee. I couldn't bring myself to hear you knock on my door to wake me up. I could'nt bring myself to see the panic and terror in your eyes when you opened the door. I couldn't bear to feel you holding my lifeless body my head on your sholder and your hand on your phone as your frantically dial 911. I couldn't bring myself to write the letter.

If I would've written the letter, there are a few things I would've included:

1. Dear Mom,

2. I love you more than anything in this world

3. I'm gay

4. You did everything perfect

5. I'm sorry

I didn't write the letter. I graduated highschool, and moved away to college. I see you on holidays and we call every couple of weeks. I'm still here, you won't have to find my lifeless body on the floor of my bedroom. We have many conversations, I speak many words, you hear several sentences. I talk and you listen and we exchange stories of our day to day lives.

"How are you?"

"I'm good" (I am not)

"That's good! How is school?"

"Still working on it" (I am not, I can not afford to go back. Not with money nor with my energy)

"How are things with Hunter?"

"Good! They're really great" (In our entire conversation this is the singular time I don't lie)

"That's good!"

"Yeah, how's work?"

"It's good! I'm working a little less now so that's nice" (this is where you start lying)

"That's good! How are things at home?"

"Good, they're good" (I know you're lying here, I'm 21 years old and never have things been "good" at home. Things are decent, okay at best. Never good.)

This is the part where you tell me some story about my siblings, or tell me where you're travelling next weekend for my sisters softball tournament. I will pretend to find the story funny or feign interest in whatever you're telling me about because I love you and I miss you.

We have long conversations and short conversations and conversations that consist of two texts. We have had dinners, and weekends, and long drives, and silent confessions of my queerness in hotel rooms in florida. We have shared tears, and laughter, we have hugged and cuddled, we have done all of the things that I would've missed. I still can't bring myself to tell you about the letter that I did not write.

This is not your fault, you have opened the floor. You have shown me that you're receptive the my feelings. I am the one with the issue. I am not sure if I should bring it up, would it just make you feel bad? I could tell you a million times "it's not your fault", I could bookend each word with that phrase and I still don't think you would believe me.

So, for now. I guess the story of the letter I did not write will live in my mind with the conversation we will not have.