Young Writers Society

Here is a letter to my ex.

I never wrote stories about you. I always wondered why. Was it because I never loved you as much as I thought I did? Did I love you so much that I didn’t want to share it? Was I the person that was only able to write when she was upset and heartbroken? Was I really that author?

I guess I was really that author.

Every time I think I’ll be okay I suddenly crash and burn. I find all the reasons to not miss you, not need you, not want you. None are enough to cover up the good you gave me. No matter how you pissed me off, the love conquered all those thoughts. It was like no matter how mad I was, I loved you enough to understand you.

And at this time you’re begging me to understand you. Hon, I really do.

It’s immature.

It’s you not really loving me for me.

It’s you not really loving you for you.

I understand. You need to follow what you drew for yourself. But life sometimes plays a different game. It shows you what you think is right and then it throws you a curveball. It threw me a curveball.

I’m pissed I fell in love with you.

Everytime someone knocks at my apartment door, my heart races as I beg for it to be you— with those sad eyes and somber smile, apologizing and pleading for me to come back to you.

Everytime my phone lights up, I pray that it’s you texting me ‘I’m sorry I love you I need you now’. Everytime you don’t reply, I imagine you driving to my apartment, unable to hold it any longer, needing to see me, instead of texting me back.

But, each text is a loved one saying I’ll be okay.

And you eventually reply with a ‘we don’t work’.

We do work. You don’t see it. I do. You haven’t reached the potential to see it. Or rather, you don’t even want to. You would rather take it easy and not have to deal with understanding me, accepting me like the way I’ve accepted you.

True love is no matter who the person is, you so strongly want to be with them. Nothing can stop that from happening.

I apologized. I explained. I understood. I accepted. I tried. I tried way too damn hard.

I’m aware that my words are silent cries into the abyss. God can only hear me and weep with me. Because he can’t even help me get what I most dearly want. He can only help me survive the pain.

I wish you were different.

I wish to all the skies that you could realize life doesn’t work the way you want it to. There’s a path you take, and this path will forever be blind to you. You don’t know what your job will be. You don’t know who your best friend will be.

You don’t know who you will marry.

I know you have a plan for yourself, a plan that satisfies you. It makes your life easy. In the long run you won’t have to be angered, stressed. You’ll have someone that thinks exactly the same and you won’t have to worry. It’ll be the perfect love.

I just hope you love her half as much as you loved me when you meet her.

Because sadly the rest of the world cannot choose their own soulmates.

Except for you. You have a plan of your own.

You tell me I think of God incorrectly. But who is the one denying what God has given you? I am not. I am taking everything He has given and keeps on giving. You keep on taking it and throwing it away because it’s hard.

That’s not how God works. You can’t choose what you like and don’t like. Sounds familiar? You used to tell me that.

Except I never did that. And we both know this. I always took everything He gave me.

And I wish I was as selfish as you are and never took you.

I wish I was as selfish so I wouldn’t know this pain.

Here is a letter to my ex.