A Letter to him- What I wish I could say.
“Some goodbyes feel like spells—we cast them just to free ourselves.”
Dear The one that got away,
I wasn’t sure I’d ever send this. But I needed time—to sit with the truth, to sift through the storm, and find words that weren’t shaped by hope or heartbreak, but by clarity.
Loving you was never something I did halfway. I didn’t tiptoe in—I dove, heart-first, without a second thought. And for a while, I truly believed we had something rare.
You made the world slow down. When you looked at me, it felt like you saw beyond skin, beyond surface—you looked straight into my soul. And I let you. I let myself believe that maybe this time, love would be different. Safe. Shared. Sacred.
You said you loved me, and I took those words as a vow. I believed we’d fight for each other—knuckles white, breath ragged, but side by side. But it turned out I was the only one fighting.
Still, I gave you grace. I made space for the cancelled plans, the distance, the silence. I softened myself around your sharp edges. I kept showing up, even when I could feel you drifting like a ghost I couldn’t reach.
I never wanted perfect—I just wanted you. And maybe that was my mistake: loving someone who didn’t know what to do with a heart like mine.
I wish you could’ve seen us through my eyes. Maybe they were rose-tinted, but they saw beauty in everything you were.
The way you lit up talking about cars—something I’d never cared for before, but I listened anyway, because you made it sound like magic. The way you pulled me out of fear and into life—you got me in the sea, for god’s sake. You held me during a panic attack like I was something precious. “It’s okay, I won’t let anything hurt you,” you said. And I believed you.
I remember your scent like it’s woven into my skin. I remember your arms—those long, steady arms—wrapped around me like home. Your warm hand on my thigh as we drove, the laughter we spilled over yellow cars. The way you’d push your foot down just to test my nerves, and how I still trusted you completely. I always did.
Thank you for being the first to show me what safe love could feel like—something more than just skin, more than wanting my body. In your arms, I found a quiet kind of belonging, a space where I didn’t have to guard myself. That first time, when it felt like I was truly seen and held—whole, not just parts—I’ll carry that with me always.
I’ll never forget those moments when your touch spoke louder than words— How your hands could be both steady and gentle. How your breath would catch just before a kiss. And how the world slipped away when it was just us, wrapped in something raw and real.
But this message isn’t about memories. It’s about mourning—and then moving on.
This is the last time I’ll reach out. Not to chase, not to convince you to come back. But to honour what we had, to speak my truth, and finally—finally—let go.
You may never fully grasp how deeply I loved you. And that’s okay.
I loved without armour. I loved in silence, in storms, in softness. I loved enough to still wish you the best, even from the distance you chose.
You once told me that life’s too short to sit around crying. And you were right.
So I won’t cry for you anymore.
Life is for the living—and I intend to live. I’m going to build that empire I once dreamed of building with you. But this time, I’ll do it alone. And that’s okay. I don’t need anyone—I never truly did. It was just nice, for a little while, to have someone’s hand to hold through the planning stages of my new life.
You reignited a spark in me that I thought I lost a long time ago. You helped me believe in myself again and reminded me that I’m only as strong as my determination.
I wish we could’ve seen past our last misunderstanding. I could only empathise with how you must have felt, But you’ll never understand how hard you were to walk away from.
Then the day later when I went out with a friend and you thought it was something else— It felt like you almost got jealous. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it… It almost made me feel like you still wanted me as much as I wanted you. But I don’t think you quite knew how to handle it, and in the end, it all just pushed you further away.
I was hurt, but I would never have wanted to hurt you or cause problems. In those first few days, I was petty. I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want you to hurt me, because you said you wouldn’t.
But it did hurt when you left.
You once told me, “I’ve got big hands—don’t worry, I can handle a handful or two,” with that cheeky wink you always did. I just wish you could’ve handled it all.
I did always believe you would come back in time, because what we had felt so special to me. And I forgive you—for not choosing me the way I chose you.
If you ever think of me, I hope it makes you smile. Maybe roll your eyes. Maybe remember how I used to tease you— How I liked to push your limits, how you used to say you loved that I kept you on your toes.
Maybe you’ll remember those quiet nights, when the world faded away and it was just you and me— no walls, no armour, just the hum of skin against skin and whispered promises that didn’t need words.
And maybe one day, you’ll find out if you ever really could handle me— because those “sub-par” skills you joked about? My mouth does far more than you ever let it. More than you ever stayed long enough to explore. But well… maybe that’s a discovery for another time, who knows.
Take care of yourself. Truly.
All my love, Bethan
