I’ve always wanted to write to you. A long, thoughtful letter explaining why I did what I did. But every time I picked up the pen, it felt like no amount of words would be enough to explain myself. What would even be fair to say to you after all of this time? I miss you, and I’m sorry. Would that change anything? We would still be in the same position that we are now. And I know you wouldn’t want to hear from me. I can hear your voice questioning why I would even bother digging up the grave again. You would be angry at me for bringing up things you’ve worked so hard to move past. The letter would explain that it hasn’t been as easy for me as it has for you. That missing you comes in waves. That even after all this time, even after being the one who walked away, I can’t seem to sever myself from you.
I would tell you how I still go to our favorite coffee shop, though I am not sure if it’s fair to call it ours anymore. With each new seasonal menu, I find myself thinking about which drink you would have chosen to try. I would explain how when the cafe speaker started playing a song you once told me you loved, I wondered if you had ever finished learning how to play it on the piano. And if you had, I’d ask who had taken my place in hearing it now. I’d say how the barista recommended that I try the lavender honey tea and it reminded me of how you would only drink lavender when you were feeling particularly homesick. I remember you more often than I’d like. At even the most mundane of moments, you find your way back into my mind. You linger there, as if it is still your rightful place to be.
You would shake your head, clutching the bridge of your nose. You would tell me to stop, you would tell me that it is time to move on. I know you, I know exactly what would happen. So I never write the letter.
Every so often, however, I invite a different version of you into my head. A version that would’ve understood what I meant. You’d tell me that you’ve wanted to write, that you’ve been feeling the weight of missing me too. We’d try to figure out where everything went wrong between us, though both of us would know we would never get an answer. We would just know that it was nice to sit there, and it was nice to talk, and we would try to stay in that moment as long as we could. Because despite all this time,
I’d tell you that sometimes you still felt like the person who knew me best in the world. And you’d tell me that sometimes you felt that way too.
But that isn’t real, and that isn’t you.
So instead, I go and sit in our coffee shop, and I listen to your favorite song, and I drink some lavender tea to mend the homesick hole in my heart that is cut out in the shape of you. I hope one day you miss me in the same way I’ve spent the last four seasons missing you. I hope I occupy your mind,
uninvited and unwanted- pushing my way into your brain. Maybe then, all of the words and the hours and the choices that I’ve made for you, wouldn’t feel like such a waste. And truthfully, all I want you to know is: I miss you and I’m sorry.