My dear Jack,

You once told me you had this awful nightmare where I fall in love with a Muslim guy and think to myself, “This is what real love is like.” I reassured you that wouldn’t be the case, that I know you loved me deeply, and you reiterated that you would have done anything for me, that you loved me as much as anyone could.
I also once told you that if we ever got the chance, I’d want to try again with you. And you said you would, too. Do you remember?

I have a nightmare now, too—that my heart won’t let me accept a different kind of love from you, and it’ll keep me from ever being able to remain friends with you. I’ve read some other letters on this site and other places, where someone can’t stop seeing their ex as someone they love deeply and long for—and so they have to cut contact because it hurts too much to only be friends. The only thing that scares me more than having to settle for a friendly kind of love, is having to cut contact with you. I can’t do it, and I don’t really have a desire to. You mean too much to me, have changed me in too big ways, for me to ever cut contact with you.

I’ve been completely put off by Muslim guys and thinking about marriage angers me. Ever ever ever settling for a traditional Muslim guy right now feels like settling, and it feels like conformity, like the equivalent of saying “this time I’ll do it right.” Except I never did it wrong. I wish we had waited to be intimate, just for my own emotional well-being, but nothing else about us was wrong. I’m not sure you ever understood the place I was in when I went online—it was anger at God that had been brewing and growing for 7-8 years. And so I pushed back and joined the site, and it lead me to you…and you made my heart soften towards God again. And now? My heart is soft from your love, but I’m distant from God.

This is all to say that I miss you beyond words Jack. I’ve thought about what would be different if we tried again. I don’t imagine you’ll read this, but if you ever want to meet again—please, reach out to me.

Yours,

N