Eleven years since we last spoke. I said goodbye. You did nothing but love me. I, loved you more. It was and still is the hardest decision I made. I married him, you probably know. I did because I loved him too, but mostly because I didn’t want to force you to comit because I was sick. I, being immature, didn’t think I could go it alone. He was there for me, through surgeries, as much as he could.

Now, all these years later, I want to tell you. I miss you, I dream of you, I wish only the best for you. Sure, I want to call you, write you, tell you I was wrong. I want to yell from rooftops that you are still loved by me. I want you to know that I just want to hold you, smell you, touch your skin.

When does this get easier? When will this stop hurting. It is so raw. Still.

I know contacting you is not the right answer, but why if it feels right in my heart? I refuse to hurt anyone with this. So I will write it here. Carry this. Dream. Wish. Hope. I made the decision. I know. But I still love you, more.