xx/xx/xx
As much as I would like to start this letter with "Dear ______," I will not. Because you're anything but dear to me and I don't really find it quite comfortable to use that thing with you. You never used it in your letters to me. You defied the rules in writing letters when you wrote to me. I might as well do the same in probably the last letter you'd be getting from me.
Now, I'm pretty sure you have a trillion questions to ask me. You always do. I swear, there's always a wh- word forming at the tip of your tongue whenever you open that mouth of yours. Maybe in this letter they'll finally be answered. Or maybe you'll just have more questions to ask.
But as much as you want to ask all of those questions, I beg of you, don't write back. Let those questions die along with the memory of us. Because I know that once you lift your pen of yours to reply to this letter, we'll never be able to put everything in the past. Because I know that you know I cannot help myself in replying to your letters.
So please, do not write back.
Now, let's return to the real agenda of this letter: the reason why I broke up with you. It isn't because I hate you. Contrary to your belief that you expressed so clearly in our last meeting, I do care for you. I did love you. But that's the thing Ben, I did love you once. Once, long ago. You see, the reason why I broke up with you wasn't because I hadn't fallen in love you. I broke up with you because I had fallen out of love with you and ironically, it broke my heart every time you looked at me the way you do because I knew that I didn't look at you like that anymore. And I thought that maybe it was better if we just broke up because you deserved someone better. Someone who actually would try harder to love you and to keep on loving you. Someone who wouldn't give up so easily.
You had always said I was a fighter. I didn't have the heart then to tell you how wrong you were. Now that everything is out in the open though, I guess I don't have to hide anything anymore. I'm a coward, Ben. I'm afraid of hurting you and I guess I thought I was sparing you all the pain. I didn't realize that whatever choice I made, I would inevitably hurt you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being such a disappointing person. For being someone who gave up. For being someone who tried to make things better.
I tried a little but it was never enough. I'm sorry.
This letter isn't going to be a cliche of how much I loved you and a heart-warming reminiscence of our togetherness. No. You deserve the truth. The truth is never pretty or sweet but sometimes it just has to be said. So I'm going to start from the top.
When I first met you, I thought you were a nerd. You stood in front of me wearing your Star Wars shirt and those glasses that I still cringe at whenever I see them. Your hair had always been a constant mess but it was messier than usual when I first saw you. I didn't know that then. You were a cute nerd though, I'd give you that. You had these bright eyes that always glinted like you were thinking of a joke. Your smile looked like you stopped mid laugh to look at someone and show them your face. It made me want to slap how stupid you looked sometimes. Then there was the fact you were way taller than me and you were lanky. I used to think that your muscles were nonexistent.
We met in university. Class of Professor Paula Steiner. Philosophy 101.
We've passed by each other often before that but we never actually said anything, much less looked at each other. It was only during that class when you came up to me with your hands buried in your pockets and gave me that stupid smile of yours as you sheepishly asked if you could borrow a pen because you forgot to bring yours.
Who knew that the sound of shuffling as one looked for a pen and a smart ass statement ("What idiot forgets to bring a writing instrument on the first day of class?) and a terribly smooth introduction ("Ben Shackles, that's who.") would make a great start to a friendship?
