Mi Carino,

I should not be writing this letter to you.  I should be writing this to your wife, whom I’m sure is in an untold state of pain.  Or I should be writing this to my boyfriend, who blindly trusts me and whose trust I don’t deserve.  You and I are the culpable, the cheaters, the only difference between us being that yours found out and mine didn’t.

But now your wife has left you and we’re over and I’m not sure what’s going on with you, only that you look so so sad.  Did she kick you out of the house? Do you love her? Are you trying to convince her to take you back? Again, you look so sad.  I wish I could take it all back, not for my sake, or for your wife’s, but for yours.

I want to explain to you how I feel about you.  You have told me many times that you love me, and I kept telling you I don’t want to hear it.  I don’t love you, because for me love takes time, and that we have not had.  I am infatuated with you.  I think about you all the time.  I want to talk to you, to make you smile and laugh, to hold your hand, and yes, to fuck you.  Because that was out of this world.  If I could go back to any moment, it would be that afternoon we spent together under that mirror in that sleazy hotel having sex, but mostly just lying there and talking.  I’m still pissed that you had to run  your mouth and tell the whole world, but I guess if I’m going to choose to do terrible things I have to prepare for terrible consequences.

The bottom line is that this whole thing got fucked.  It was supposed to just be sex, but we both fell for each other.  I fell for you when you ran your finger over one of my scars and asked me what happened. I told you, “Cuando era nina, me cortaba,” and all you said was, “que triste” and enveloped me in a huge hug.  My heart melted then, and is melting again right now.  Most people don’t understand that that’s all that needs to be said.  I felt love and comfort and peace with myself and my scars.  I love you for that, if nothing else.

I’m sorry things turned out how they did.  I’m sorry we could never be together.  I’m sorry for all of the horrible things you’ve been through, and I want you to know that even though you’ve made some bad decisions, you deserve to be happy.  As do I.  You deserve a wife who doesn’t constantly fight with you, who doesn’t make you get rid of the pictures of your dead ex-wife, and who would do the right thing and help you get your papers fixed instead of lording it over you like some vengeful bitch.  Your son deserves a happy father, even if you’re not with his mother.

This is all over now, even though I’m far from over pining for you.  My heart hurts, I miss you so bad, I can’t get your gorgeous eyes out of my head.  All I can hope for is to steal a snippet of conversation from you when I have the chance, to try and make you laugh, and maybe if I’m lucky you’ll give me a hug in the cooler again.

Hold on to that thing I gave you.  I told you it was good luck, maybe it turned out to be bad luck, but it’s a piece of my heart and I want you to have it.

Love.