The Mistake I've Made

Note #3

'Trickster,

I found a liquor store today, bought what I could with all the money in my wallet and drowned myself in both light and dark booze. It's not a good idea to drink and write, just like drinking and driving except less deadly. Or maybe not, I could drop dead any moment with all the alcohol I've consumed tonight. Fuck, I'm surprised I can even use proper English.

So here I am writing to you again for the third time in a month. It's been a goddamn month! And I can't even look at another person without seeing your face where theirs should be. It's worse at home because it's empty and every single room reminds me of something involving you, or both of us, or us and the kids and it's killing me. I walk through the kitchen and see the boys sitting at the table awaiting dinner while I finish cooking and you clean off plates for us to eat on. I sit on the couch and see you sitting beside me, resting your head on my shoulder while we watch old reruns of Supernatural. And I sleep in our bed and, oh god, you can probably guess what memories come flooding in whenever I'm in there. I miss kissing you, I miss holding you, I miss fucking you. It was more than just sex, you know that, right? We connected on a whole other level, and what I loved most was seeing you make those gorgeous faces, whimpering my name like it was the only word you knew how to say. You have no idea how much I miss seeing that and- how many times have I said I miss you? Ten, twenty times? Doesn't matter, I'm going to keep saying it anyway. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you so goddamn much Patrick.

Why am I even writing you letters when I could just call you? If I call, will you pick up? If I text you, will you respond? Or do you hate me so much now that you've gotten rid of my number or even went as far as changing your own? It's fine if you did, I'll just find out where you're staying and say what I need to say to you in person. Because right now I've never needed you more.

Every time our friends or family visit they always ask 'how's Patrick doing', 'how are the boys', 'where's Patrick'. All good questions, really, except I can't answer a single fucking one! So tell me, Patrick, how are you? You might want to tell our family and friends at some point. And the boys? I don't know, they seem okay but maybe they've learned to hide it from everyone they know just like I did. And the final question; where are you, huh? Where the fuck are you?! Where...where are you? I'm such an awful shit without you, I need you so damn bad it hurts. How many times do I have to say that I'm sorry? I'll keep saying it until you forgive me. I'll write it in the clouds if you want, I'll tattoo it on my skin if you want, I'll do anything you want. I'd do anything for you.

You. You. You. This is all about you and how weak I am without you here with me. Just, please Patrick, come back. I want, no, need to fix this wrong that I've done because the pain is eating me alive. Come the fuck back! I love you Patrick, I always have, always will.

....just come back to me, please.

-Panda