It’s still me. I’m still the same person that I was when we started to walk together. I’m still the same, just slightly more broken. I still feel the same things, still want the same things. I still am hopelessly forgetful, ‘complicated’ and headstrong.
Shattered. Broken. Bleeding. Bruised. Scarred. All are adjectives that also apply. That was a low and fatal blow. I loved you. So much. Anything asked of me I would willingly do for you. I missed you, prayed for you, wished for you.
But I can’t make you understand; I can’t even make you feel remorseful. I wish you could see my pain, feel my pain. But you can’t.
I am not weak. Yes, I cried. I cried for nearly an hour, lying on my bed, trying to hold myself together. Each breath hurt, each thought a personal torment. Thoughts of all that I was subjected to for being with you, thoughts of what used to be my reality, thoughts shadowed in bittersweet memories. It was pathetic and I’m pathetic. But you are cruel.
My first real love, my first real broken heart. For a stupid, thoughtless, immature reason. Marriage. It’s not even legal to be married until the age of eighteen. I have no idea what the future brings, and I don’t expect eternal vows anytime soon. I am fifteen. Did you know that? You should; I turned fifteen when you were still my boyfriend. I got congratulations, an acknowledgement, from everyone but you.
Was marriage the real reason? Were you so ready to be rid of me that you jumped at the first shallow excuse supplied? Or was there something more? Something you were ashamed of, or something you couldn’t put into words? Maybe I’m over thinking this, but can you really blame me? You didn’t even have the decency to call me yourself. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to…no, of course you don’t. Why would you? It’s not like you ever had to sacrifice your pride, your dignity, for me.
Maybe I’m not being fair. You did care for me, I know that much. To what extent, I don’t know. I wish I could talk to you and figure out what was going through your head when you told me that you wanted to be just friends.
Look, I’m sorry, but my feelings are now too complicated for friendship. I would prefer you either get out of my life, or let me live it pretending you were never in it. Not that you’ll do either, but to be honest, I’ll more likely despise you than be friendly to you the next time that we meet. I still don’t know how I restrained myself from throwing the phone out the window when you called – I mean, when I called.
After I had waited so long to talk to you, to just hear your voice and know that it wasn’t all just in my head, you completely ruptured everything. A little bit of a warning would have been nice. Especially after all you said you’d do. Call me every weekend? Ha! You probably don’t even know my phone number. Do stuff together over the summer? Oh, please.
You know, I think my friends were right. You’re too immature for me. I was always looking out for you, standing up for you, holding us together. No longer.
I hope you’re happy. I hope your mother is happy. I hope the whole damn world is happy. This is the most complaint you’ll get from me. So just go live your isolated, blissfully ignorant, sheltered, self-righteous life and leave me alone.
P.S. - Goodbye.
Sincerely,
The girl with the broken smile
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I don't really want dissections of this or cutting-edge reviews.
Just tell me if this letter made you feel anything.
Because this is not fiction.
. The emotion in this was really powerful, hope that prick realises what he's lost.
