Summer's a Knife

Chapter 1

March 23rd, 2029.

My dearest Karlie,

You might wonder why it is you find yourself holding this piece of paper right now, reading words written by my hand. I can't even start to imagine what it might do to you or what you might feel. Maybe you're having flashbacks to better times, or maybe it's just hitting you like a fist to the stomach. Maybe it's neither of those.

To be honest with you, I don't know why I'm sending this. It might be the loneliness that shows up in the middle of the night while my children are asleep, reminding me I'm about to turn 40; telling me that here I am again, finding myself alone and unloved, wondering if I will ever find that fulfilling happiness I had when we were together.

Actually, scratch that. I'm allowed to be selfish sometimes and right now I want you to know I'm still around. I have longed for you for 15 long years. Even in those years when I was happy and in love, I longed for you. You own a special piece of my heart, the piece I never got back from you all those years ago, and it aches, every single day.

April 2nd, 2029.

Have you ever looked back and asked yourself what would have happened if circumstances were different?

I don't think this was your fault, not really. I was trying too hard to hold on to things that were foreign concepts to me. I was never popular – how was I to know it would all come crashing down on me? All I wanted was to be happy.

I never meant for us to fall the way we did, but we fell nonetheless. The world just wasn't ready for us.

April 19th, 2029.

I read somewhere you broke it off with Josh. I want to say I'm happy about it but I know all too well the toll a breakup can have on your body and soul. It's nothing to really be happy about. It's more of a cosmic shift that runs you over; at least that's what it felt like for me. Be glad you don't have children that complicate the matter. Maybe that's not a thing I should say. Maybe you wanted children and for whatever reason never had them.

In that case, I'm sorry.

May 3rd, 2029.

Sometimes memories of you surprise me in the dead of night. You pull me in and weave yourself through my brain, sprouting little emotional seeds that turn into long, slender vines, forcing themselves through the windows of my soul. You intrude on my dreams, taking me back to the time when it was your arms I wore at night like a blanket keeping me warm. The memories of your soft skin, of how much I adored brushing my fingers down your back every morning, get stuck in my throat when I wake up next to my naked lover, the one who isn't you, leaving a bittersweet taste in my mouth. Those are the times when I roll over; turning my back to the sleeping warmth on the other side of the bed, wishing it was you who kept my bed warm and my body occupied; allowing myself to wade back into those memories and long for you with every fiber of my being.

If only we had done things differently.

At times I wish I could take it all back, just go back in time and undo all we had together. It would erase those painful memories of our last days together, wipe them away from existence all together, but I know it's not really worth it. What are a few painful memories in light of all the beautiful days we had, of the warm summer days we spent in each other's arms, and of the nights in my bed where we became one, neither one of us knowing where one ended and the other began.

June 14th, 2029.

Your lack of response is deafening. It's okay if you just want to forget about me.