My Dearest,
It’s been so long, this life of mine. So filled with pain and heartache and, every now and then, a bit of joy. But then I found you. And suddenly I didn't have to bask in the warmth of the sun; I could just bask in the warmth of your love.
It’s hard to say goodbye…to give it all up, to give you up. I just know that it would be so much better if I were not here anymore, if my presence did not plague the air that you breathe. So I’ve decided to leave…to go away and allow for some measure of clarity.
I’m sorry. I know that you won’t believe me, since my words are nothing but words on a page. But I am sorry. For poisoning everything I’ve ever touched, for having met you and ruining your life, for loving you when I should not have, for so much that I understand if you cannot forgive me. I only ask that you try to forgive me for all the wrongs I’ve committed and for asking you to love me when I knew all along that in the end I would leave you. Forgive me for being me; I know it isn’t enough for you. All I can say, all I can offer as an excuse is that I know no other way to be; I’ve been sad and angry and lonely and scared and self-destructive and unloved for far too long…and to suddenly change, to suddenly be surrounded by this air security is…harrowing, frightening, and much too assuring.
I’m sorry, my dear. I shall miss you…and even if I shouldn’t, I shall love you always. At least this way, I will be remembered just the way I always was: tortured, depressed, and suicidal. But know that I was happy also. And that you were my puzzle piece. As Dickens wrote, “it is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
Goodnight forever…
M.
