It’s been about eight months now, and the pain is not as bad as it once was, but I still feel it sometimes, and it still hurts me.  What hurts even more are memories of the ways I hurt you, like the time I picked you up from the airport and wouldn’t hug you or kiss you.  The pain of this memory is on the same level of that which I felt the night my grandmother passed away.  My mother, aunt, sister and myself were there that night. I wasn’t in the room when it happened. My aunt’s animal-like cries coming from my grandmother’s room told me she was gone.  That finality, that profound loss, that is what I feel when I remember how I hurt you.  But this pain is not just for hurting you; it is also for myself as I reflect on the fact that I was too afraid to fully embrace love – your love – when it was exactly what I wanted.

When I’d hurt you, I’d afterwards concoct a ridiculous intellectual theory as to why I acted as I did, but I was so clueless as to myself and my emotions then that whatever explanation I gave was wrong.  I did ALWAYS feel badly about it afterwards, and since you were then so far away, I didn’t know how I could make it up to you.  A simple hug, or kiss, or holding you may have helped, but I didn’t have that ability.  The fact that we were so far away from one another inhibited me, in discussing issues between us, as I was always afraid that if we fought, you’d leave me.  My attachment to you perhaps was not the healthiest, and I’d really like to believe that this and all our other problems were due to the distance, and not to any incompatibility.  There is no way of proving this now, unfortunately, and I don’t think you’d believe this to be true.

It is my impression from our very brief communications since you ended it, that you were, or are in the midst of a personal revolution of sorts, part of which, sadly I believe was motivated by the unhappiness you felt in our relationship.  We were so far away from one another.  You needed more love than I could give you over the phone, or via text.  When you would bring this up, I would say it will all be worth it someday, and I did believe this, though you may have felt my actions reflected otherwise, and I would not blame you for arriving at this conclusion.

You would say that you had different needs than I did, referring to the fact that I was (or claimed to be) fine with not seeing you much.  This is another example of my lack of emotional intelligence.  I didn’t know that I had needs.  This sounds ridiculous, surely, but it is true.  I have learned this since I began seeing a therapist, among other things.  You see, I somehow picked up the belief that having needs made me weak, and that a need was just an opportunity for disappointment.  The terrible, idiotic fights I started. These would always occur over something so stupid.  I’d try to explain them away, giving sometimes the most disturbing, idiotic reasons.  I now know that what was happening is that over time, my unknown needs were being frustrated or not met.  Eventually I’d be pushed to this edge, and create a fight about something that was just meaningless, and completely unrelated to anything.  I’m so sorry for that.  You never deserved any of that.  I don’t think I’m a stupid person by any means, but emotionally, I have a lot of room to grow, to say the least.

Again, it’s just very sad to me that our love had to die.  I recall something your mother told you along these lines, which you later told me; apparently it was prophetic.  No matter how stupid my behavior was, I really did love you in my own fucked up way.  I get the feeling I will never hear from you again, knowing how you’ve been with your other exes, so I guess this letter you’ll never read will have to suffice.  I don’t think my love for you is going away any time soon–it’s been eight months and it’s still around.  I’ve concluded that I will just have to grow used to the fact that you are gone, until I meet someone else, which I really don’t want to do at this point.  I desire intimacy, but I repel it when it comes near, partially because I’m still holding onto hope because of how you ended it; the cliche “it’s not you, it’s me”; “I still love you”; “my feelings haven’t changed.”  Well, mlle. I sincerely wish you the best of luck, and it pains me to say it, but if we aren’t meant to be, I truly hope you find someone that will love you and make you happy and bring out the wonderful, sensitive and loving person that you like to hide from the world.