Years Later, I Still Write About You

I think I destroyed you. I’ve told myself countless of times that a million other factors could have definitely weighed in the process of your destruction. But you know how I lie to myself as often as I can just to keep the pieces of my soul together.

I know you once had dreams, big ones, ones that are unselfish and ambitious and sometimes unfathomable, and I still wish you do. I wish, that during the time when I couldn’t hold my life in my two hands and pushed you inside a lonely perspective of the world, I wish that you still have your dreams. And that when you managed to climb out of the hole, you had your dreams with you to tell you where to go from there.

I don’t think I’ll apologize for everything that’s happened between us, because I think that I once believed I was right and now I believe I’m not and I would surely sound like a hypocrite and you’ve stopped believing in, even listening to, even bothering with me. But I’ll try because I think you deserve that, and definitely more.

I’m sorry for pushing you too far, even when I knew you couldn’t handle the pains of social pressure and I still pushed and pushed and pushed. And you said stop and I still pushed.

I’m sorry for judging you, for drawing the easiest conclusions when conclusions were not called for, not wanted, not desired, not needed, wrong. And I told everyone what I judged you for and it made them judge you, too.

But you know what I’m most sorry for? I’m most sorry for ever being written into your story and being published into your book, because I was kind and I was good and I had good intentions and you were kinder and you were better and you had better intentions.

And I fell in love with you.

And in my destruction, I destroyed you, too.

Please take me out of your book, rip me out from the pages, throw me into the pile, and let me burn. And if you please, look at the flames that glow a gentle orange, blending with red and yellow and the colors of the stars, and remember that I was once good and I never meant for any of this to happen.

I destroyed you. And each day since, I have never, not for a second, forgotten.