I'm sitting here. I'm waiting. I've got the fire started and I'm sitting in the stupid chair you got me on my birthday a year or so back. I remember the way you smiled when I lied to you, saying I loved it.
I've lied to you do many times, now that I think of it. Nothing major, like cheating or stealing other something. No. I lied about getting enough sleep, about missing the countryside, about taking my meds. But most of all, I lied about loving you.
It's not that I didn't love you. It's that I lied about the type of love I held for you. You were my soulmate. But you were my soul’s mate. My heart only thought of you as my friend, my best friend. My soul loved you like no other.
And I never got to tell you that. I sit here, at seven o’clock on November seventh, before a stupid fire full of memories that make my heart sting and my soul sick. I fucking hate the fact that I never even said goodbye. I told you that I would see you soon and that I need time to think.
Six months after I say that, you decided you couldn't handle the life you had. Your bucket fell over and to my feet. It spilled out your heart in one single letter. I didn't know what you meant about “loving heartlessly” until now.
I really wish you hadn't done what you'd done to yourself. You left me and I feel like a total asshole because it's all my fault. I took your soul for granted and I wish it was me instead of you.
I really do love you. Even now.
Because souls are eternal and hearts are organs, if I'm going to quote you.