The Letters

FALLING

It's been a long time,

As I sit in the place where innocence and passion once had a home, I can't help but be drawn to the empty space you once occupied. I miss your warmth; your essence. It's so cold. I can't blame you for abandoning it. You said not to blame myself either. I struggle with that. Because if not you or me, then who? There must be someone. For now, I'll place it on the bourbon. Or the rum. Or the vodka. Or the tequila. Would it count if I placed it in my hands? My wandering hands? That way I'm only holding it, not taking it.

I suppose I should get to the point. I wanted to offer an apology for what I said. I know I can't take it back, but just know it's not what I meant. I wish you could forget it, but you can't. Neither can I. I'm left with the baggage. I'll hold onto it. I need to. You can't go anywhere without baggage. Whether it's forward, or backward. There will always be something to carry.

I don't deserve any answers, but I'm still going to ask my questions. Because if I don't at the very least ask, I'll forever be haunted by the thoughts of your potential answers. That being said, you don't need to give me any.

What am I, now? I'm not who I used to be. I can't figure out who I've become. So what am I? I know I've changed. I know I'm different. What if I'm someone I don't want around? I'm afraid I've become the worst version of myself. I can't figure out who the person in the mirror is that's staring back at me. I can see my reflection, but I can't see me.

We used to be inseparable. But now I fear the worst: What if I'm someone you won't talk about? Have I become a poorly written chapter in your life? Forgettable and unimportant? I know you said you would always care, and that you missed me, but it comes to a point where I don't think that's true. You occupy my mind as often as a human needs to breathe. And trust me, I am well aware that I write too many songs about you. But, I hope you know the offer I made after it all went wrong still stands. The coffee's out, and I'm ready to listen. But, it kills me inside because I know deep down we've run out of things we can say.

If I need to get ready for a final goodbye, I will. I won't do it easily, and I won't do it without regret. Because I have the feeling that after we say that last word you'll never need me again.

I've fallen deeper and deeper into this void. I just want to know if you're my map, or my anchor.

Sincerely, Regretfully, but Always,

Yours