Confessions (I'm Sorry)

Dear you, I'm Sorry

  Apr 29, 2017  

I know you won't see this, and that's okay. I would like you to see this even if we don't talk ever again, but I know you wont see this, and that's okay. 

Dear the one I used to call my best friend, I've missed you, I still miss you, so so much.

Dear the one I used to call my lover, my princess, I've misunderstood you. I let you go when I was blind, but now I'm down on my knees, and I can see that I was wrong.

Dear the one I call my ex, you were so cold to me, after all we've been through, all of the years of fighting for where we are now. Why? Why have you done this after everything?

Dear the one I used to call my one and only, although the meaning has changed, the statement holds true. You are still my one and only in many ways, just the lover part uprooted. The other roots stay true. 

Dear the one I used to call my school-yard sweetheart, oh boy were we young and foolish, it was a good run though, you will always be my first. But right now I don't need young love, I crave something else. 

Dear the one I used to call my salvation, you came down right in time to save me in the past, but now I've fallen again. Fallen far far down. Down to a place where I cannot come back up and I cannot see the light, the only escape I can see is straight down and dangle with freedom.

Dear the one I used to call my calm to the calamity, you understood me better than I understood myself. In my times of madness, you were the serenity that brought me back to reality. You knew me better than I knew myself. Now I am lost, I don't recognize my face in the mirror or voice from my mouth, I am lost and confused. I miss myself, but not as much as I miss my best friend.

Dear the one I used to call my rock, you were like a home base, a safe zone. I thought I could survive on my own, but now I'm in the cross-hairs and the hairs of the rope tickle my neck and I move around the edge of the chair. I don't need professional help or a police escort, I just need to talk to my best friend.

Dear the one I used to call my partner in crime, we've been through it all, we've seen the blood and the horrors of it all. Now I am the one who needs an investigation, because the life of me has been stolen from my hands and my heart and I need help. I think you know where to help look.

Dear the one who pushed me out of their life when things went rough, I can never forget the sorrow and shattering feeling of those words screamed into my face. I can never forget. I will never forget. I relive the memory every hour.

Dear the one I used to call my closest friend, we used to be able to tell each other everything, now I cant tell life from death and light from darkness. A sense is missing and I am left confused and disoriented, I cannot find the way I need help.

Dear the one I used to call my obsession, I obsess now over the impact of your words and the life I left behind. I hear the echos of your hate resonating between the memories of the love we shared. We had so much, Why did it all have to go to waste? I miss my best friend.

Dear the one I used to call my emotional pain-killer, I am in pain. An incredible amount of pain. I just want a release, one quick release. One slip of a chair, one slip of the wheel, one bad "accident". I pray for my release to happen, though I do not wish to meet the Devil. I pray you are the release, instead of my own cruel hands. 

Dear the one I used to call my own, I let you go. I let you down. 

Dear the one I used to call my perfection. You used to apologize even if nothing was wrong, I used to say that there's nothing to be sorry for, you are perfect.  Now things between us are far from perfect, and I find myself constantly being sorry. I wish I could apologize to you, but I'm stuck apologizing to my reflection, after all you did shape me to who I am today. 

Maybe there is a slight chance that you are reading this, and in that case, I am truly sorry for what has occurred. If it means anything to you, maybe we can talk some day, maybe in the future sometime. The chances are slim, and that's okay. Maybe you're better off without me, and that's okay. I just wish to talk.

Dear the one I used to call my joker, I hear your laugh, and I'm glad you are laughing, as long as you're happy. Knowing I can never be the root cause of that laughter like I always used to be causes my heart to be carved like a holiday roast. I am torn apart. I miss laughing together, the smiles and warm  welcoming conversations. 

Dear the one I used to call my warmth, you used to beam with energy and warmth. I feel your energy on my back as I reminisce about our fondest memories, one seat ahead and to the right. Its a warm but faint energy, as I am cold and craving of the warmth and safety of your company.

Dear the one I used to call my locker buddy, I should really find out my combo to my own locker, having to store my winter jacket in my band locker isn't very practical. I've forgotten the combo to the locker on the first floor, but I still frequently visit the locker of memories packed full of stuffed animals and pixie sticks. I've never gotten rid of them.

Dear the one I used to call my good-morning messenger, I miss not only waking up to my lover, but more so waking up to someone genuinely interested in my dreams and crazy ideas. The only crazy ideas I have left are meeting the man downstairs. I miss your presence.

Dear the one I used to call my cuddle buddy, I really do miss laying in bed with you, Now I just lay in bed hoping. Hoping one day I wake up and find the world is okay. I wake up and find out that all my pain is gone and everything is the way it should be. I wake up in my box, several feet of dirt trying to penetrate my solemn chamber. 

Dear the one I used to call my poet and author, when things got tough I told you to keep going and never give up. I would always be interested and I would always wish to hear your latest works. You never did get through telling me that one story, did you? I'd like to read it one day. I hope you never gave up on that. Advice to not give up sounds funny coming from a man crying over a keyboard in the middle of the night as he makes one last effort to reach out as he gives up on trying to breathe, doesn't it? 

Dear the one I used to call my savior, I need your help. I need you. You understood me more than anyone else could. I need your help, I'm slipping. Rock bottom is cold and dark, I'm starting to get used to it, but I wonder what it feels like to fly away from the cold, even if suspended from a chain or cord. 

Dear everything you used to be and everything you are now, 

I'm sorry, I need help, please. Come back.

Sincerely, Tiger.