It was September 15th, the day after your birthday. We were already broken up but I still hoped that you'd reach out to me. But you didn't. I desperately sent you a message asking if you would talk to me in person. I was relieved when you obliged. I went to your house that day. For years, your home had become somewhat of my second home, too. But when I got off the bus and started walking down the familiar path, everything felt foreign. My heart was beating so fast, full of fear and anticipation of seeing you again after a month.
I arrived at the gate and you went out to let me in. I smiled at you and followed you inside. I couldn't look at you the moment we got inside and so instead I took the time to put down my bag and held myself as tears began to form in the corners of my eyes. I hugged you and told you how much I missed you and then I handed you the many letters I've written containing the words I couldn't voice out without breaking down to tears.
It had been months since I've been inside your room again and while everything felt comfortable and familiar, everything was not at the same time. I let you read my letters and waited for you to say something. After you put down the last one, you had one word for me. "Really?" I just looked at you, my eyes pleading. "Really? After everything?" And I just nodded yes because I was afraid that when I would open my mouth to say something, I would just start crying.
At the end of that day, I asked for you to think about the letters I gave you. I asked you to consider our relationship again. And then I asked you to write me one. I wanted you to write down everything you're feeling because I wanted to understand what was going on inside your mind.
You never wrote me a letter.
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