A Letter Later from the One that got away

the one that got away
the one that got away

Dear Love,

I am drafting this letter on the bench we used to frequent.

If you’re reading this now, this letter was sent a year ago and the feelings may be gone (I suppose), but the memories will linger on and relive inside the corners of my mind.

You crushed me. Again. I couldn’t find a better avenue than this because in as much as I wanted to talk about us to someone, I don’t want to burden my friends anymore with all the dramas you put me into. You’re the source of all my emotions and the only one I want to talk about it with, and therefore, I am writing this letter to you, but in a different lifetime.

I don’t intend to write down and rant about how you got me dizzy trying to run me around in circles and leaving me hanging.

You told me you have yourself to blame for making me assume that what we had was something beyond what we think we had. Then you told me we were just friends. Nothing more. And that I shouldn’t expect anything from this. That we’ll never be an item. After one whole year of exclusively seeing each other and doing all those stuff real couples do.

I’m sorry that I’ve been such a baby, believing that you looked at me differently, thinking that maybe someday you’d love me back. That what we had was something you didn’t have with any other “girl friends.” That you loved watching me giggle at the sight of sunsets and stars. That you and I could maybe (just maybe) go on forever. But I got it all wrong.

You’re 26. You’re cloaked in misery and loneliness. I saw the sadness in your eyes that rooted from the loss of your father, to being left by your siblings and to how your mother has never been a mother to you.

I have seen how your days went by. Of how you were occupied by work. And that even when you spent time with your friends and your cousins and even me, I felt the weight of your world–of how you were searching for that missing piece that could light up the murky corners of your life.

I was there when all you ever wanted was someone to talk to. And I let you talk for hours knowing that it was the prescription that you needed. You were troubled. But I tried my best not to rub it on your face because the least help a troubled person needed was to be told that they are troubled. And so I kept up with your being bipolar. I wasn’t used to adjusting because in the past, I was always the one being adjusted with. But with you, I learned to understand people. I learned how to deal with their issues and I learned how to keep my calm even after I’ve been shouted at, pushed back, and taken for granted.

You know the kind of love that happens only once in a lifetime?

I thought what we had was something close to that. I know it’s cliché to say this, but I think it’ll take me forever to move on from you because what we had was something great (or so I thought). I know you loved me, too, even just for a while. But my love for you is so great that even if you try to reciprocate all the things I did for you, and the love I felt for you, it’ll probably take you forever before you can achieve the magnitude of it all.

I tried to get busy and keep my mind away from the thought of you. But I couldn’t. You’re my default. You’re the only one I think of when my mind floats away from reality. Now I’m crying as reality sinks in—that I’ll never get to have those conversations with you again. You were my diary. I used to tell you everything that happens in a day—in my day. Now I’ll have to resort to paper and pen and blogging again.

In as much as I wanted to dwell on the thought of you for as long as I can take and live in the memories we shared, I think it’s about time that I give myself credit for loving someone so much without asking for anything in return, no matter how they treat me like I’m just-another-girl-they-could-play-with. It’s called unconditional love, look it up.

Thank you for the bumpiest roller coaster ride I’ve ever experienced. The way up was crazy and I loved it. I swear I loved every second of it. But you know what happens at the end of falling? Landing. And because your roller coaster was at sky level, the impact I had whilst falling was a million times harder and more intense than on the way up. It was as if I skyrocketed—only downwards. And the moment I hit the ground, all I got were bruises and scars. Bruises heal but scars don’t. I wanted to erase all the memories we shared, but I don’t want to forget about you.

Please tell me that that one year wasn’t just pretense.
I love you but I don’t know how not to. You will forever be my always.

Lots of love (and tears),

The one that got away

About Amanda Jean

Amanda Jean is a 21 year-old Public Relations writer for a university in Zamboanga City.