we haven’t spoken in seven years. by this point, i shouldn’t even be writing anything to you. there is no point in bringing up the past and in the end, nothing i will say will accomplish anything. i don’t know what kind of outcome i would want anyway. but it’s been a long time and i find that every few months i get the urge to write to you and make sure you’re doing okay. are you?
i look online to find little hints about your life when the letter-writing-urge pops in my head. i hope you’re still writing and making music. have you made the 2nd album of the year? i’m a little surprised you haven’t moved out of state yet. how many cats does your mom have?
i’ve gotten most of my life figured out now; a pretty big difference from the last time you knew me. i have a counselor, i’ve been on medication since 2011, i’ve been diagnosed and since then i’ve had a chance to break down and analyze who i used to be. my back and forth moods, the depression and insecurity, lack of communication, lack of emotions and empathy, the cheating and lying. i wonder what would have happened to us if i had gotten help from the start.
i’m sorry for all the shit i put you through and how i could never own up to any of my mistakes. i didn’t know what i was doing until just a couple years ago and it’s all too late to reach out and make amends, hence this letter for you that you will never read. but i need to get this out of my head. the chance of us ever speaking again is slim; becoming friends, even slimmer i’m sure. i don’t think that was ever possible for us no matter how hard we tried. but i really do hope you are well, and that you are where you want to be in life.
i will always appreciate you and what we had.
"we were young and we were dumb, we were numb but in love."