Hi J,

You know I have a letter for you. I’m sitting here clutching it in my hands. You said you would like to read it, but as usual, you’re being distant and cold. I don’t know I will have the opportunity to give it to you. Part of me wants to leave it on your wind shield; an opposing part wants me to tear it up or leave it at the bus stop for someone else to read. Here it is, although I know you’ll never read it.

The easiest way for me to articulate my thoughts is through written words. So here I am, writing this to you. I have this tendency to write letters, but never send them. Maybe it’s because I lack the confidence to do so, or maybe it’s because I’ve already healed simply through the action of writing. Regardless, i’m going to write one anyways.

Let me tell you a bit about myself – i’m quirky and i’m silly. I know I can be blunt, I know I’m too emotional. I know that i’m broken. My days can be dark, my nights sometimes too long. I’m often failed by my own insecurities, as I was with you.

I require too much attention, I long for affection, for security. And I hold onto it tightly whenever it may occur.

I know when you look at me, you see sadness in my eyes. Likewise, I can see the confusion and doubt in your own, or atlas I interpret it that way.

My moods shift on a day to day basis and although I may appear fine on the outside, on the inside my thoughts are being tossed like a small boat on a dark ocean.

i’ve never fully understood this part of me, and I doubt I ever will.

When this feeling first occurred, I had been dating someone who decided to leave me for someone else. My insecurities kicked in and I wondered why. Was it because I was too young? Too sarcastic? Too easy? Was it because I was naive? One thought forever engrained in my mind (which I know will infuriate you) is that I thought it was because I was half black. ‘Always the girl you sleep with, but never the one you bring home.’ This thought still enters my head. I think it always will. (Although, I know this wasn’t the case for you.)

I know it may appear that I don’t hold myself in high regard; that it doesn’t appear as if I have a whole lot of love for myself – but I do.

Three years ago, I would have bottled these feelings inside for them to come out on that cold fateful night in October. I don’t do that anymore. And although I know I’m not perfect, I do know that I’m worth it.

I think I’ll always be insecure in relationships. I had a string of bad ones that were detrimental to my thoughts and threatened to bring back all the bad I had overcome. I vowed myself off dating and I did, until I met you.

I didn’t have any expectations when meeting you. I was, like always, preparing myself for the worst. But you walked in, spilt your tea, talked about biking and I was happy. You were different, I don’t know if it was because you weren’t overly confident, or because you seemed to listen to everything I had to say. But whatever it was, I let really happy and hopeful.

That night you came over to end things is when my insecurities kicked in. And ever since, I’ve wondering if you were going to try again. And when these doubts and insecurities were in full force is when I would try and end it with you. You see, i have this fucked up philosophy that hurting myself would be less painful than someone else hurting me. Maybe I’m right, maybe i’m wrong.

I know you said you were confused; you didn’t know what you wanted. To me, this was the answer that you didn’t.

I didn’t want to be some girl you just dated, I didn’t want to be someone you slept with occasionally. But I am sorry for pushing you further than what you wanted. I thought that after awhile, you would just change your mind.

I don’t know why you were brought into my life at this moment – maybe to teach me something, or to remind myself that I’m still fragile.

But, I will remember it all anyways.

The laughter, the tears. The night we met and the way you looked when I last saw you. I’ll remember the dinners and the mornings. The way I ran around learning on Valentines day, knowing you were on your way. I’ll remember your art and the way you would talk emphatically about each piece. Whenever we would curl up and talk – truly talk. I’ll remember the way you touched my curls and told me they were beautiful – that I was beautiful and not to change it.

I’ll remember the excitement I had when you were coming home, but the dread it would be over as soon as you did.

The dread, the insecurities, the doubts and the tears were worth it all.

I will always remember you and I hope you remember me too.