Message in a bottle
I've been dreaming of you lately. In some of the dreams, I'm happy to see you. In others, I'm ashamed. I hide my face from you.
I'm getting married the day after tomorrow. I think probably a lot of people approaching the altar take one last look back at past loves. At the doors they closed behind them.
I've always been cursed with a good memory. Not for facts, or figures, or whatever they taught me in school, but for people, their faces, their stories. For the stories we made together.
And as I sit here, reading through our old, digital love letters, I can't help but feel the 11+ years between us shrink away to nothing. Our time together is as real to me now as it was when I first lost you: the joy, the laughter, the quiet moments, the storms we weathered, and all the hurt. A lot of that hurt, I made for the both of us.
I'm sorry. I said it before, and maybe it's silly to raise old ghosts, when you probably don't think of me at all anymore. But I am sorry. I think about it sometimes. How maybe, if I'd been just a little more mature when I was with you, I wouldn't have screwed it up so bad. I could have saved us both so much heartache. I could have been the partner you deserved.
I hope you're happy. More than almost anybody I know, you deserve to be happy. I hope that you have love in your life, and that you still smile like you used to, and read poetry, and think too much, and listen to bad pop music and also good pop music. I hope that you remember to be silly. And I hope that maybe someday, we will meet again, in some other life.
