A year ago I wrote you a letter. I told you it would be the last one that you would ever receive from me. I remember the pain I felt in my heart as I penned that statement. I had left you reflecting in front of the fire. We had finished our last argument, we had talked about it the last time, options were exhausted and so was I.
My letter was never meant to be so long, but as I sat curled into myself; the emotions that I could not show you fell out and splashed onto the page. I left the letter on the spare bed. No hearts or kisses to illustrate the page, it wasn’t a love letter; it was goodbye and a reminder of the pain you had caused.
I heard you reading it several hours later, your regret echoed with every page turned. We never spoke of that letter and I never got a reply. Sometimes I still want a reply – even now. Sometimes I want to send you another letter, another reminder to stop you from moving on.
I want you to be stuck in a mud full of memories.