I’m sorry I couldn’t reply.

When we broke up, I wrote you a long ass letter. A letter full of cliches and funnies and me trying to make light of you breaking my heart. 
The night I left, you held me in your arms for one last time and danced with me. The perfect everything I wanted. You held me as we looked out over the twinkling lights of Vancouver from a beach; much like the night I realized I’d fallen for you.

Gawd. That night felt like a million years ago… When we scaled the wall of Vanier and snuck onto Wreck beach where P went skinny dipping with some guy I no longer remember. 

Two nights ago, you wrote me. Yesterday, you texted me again. 

I received them.
I just couldn’t reply. 

I couldn’t reply because I couldn’t figure out what was so special about her that you were willing to do long distance with her. Is it because this time it’s you who’s leaving? 
I couldn’t reply because I guess the selfish part of me always thought you’d be in love with me; but you weren’t, were you? Not even when we were together. 
You mistook lust for love and vice versa. 

I couldn’t reply because I will always be conflicted about how I feel about you.
I couldn’t reply because I want to know why I wasn’t worth it. Why she is. What makes her so much better than me? I couldn’t reply because I needed closure. 

But closure doesn’t heal a broken heart. 
Closure doesn’t mean anything. Can’t/won’t/doesn’t do anything. 

I will always be conflicted.
I will always ask the same questions; over and over and over.
I will always wonder why I wasn’t enough. Why what we had wasn’t enough for you to fight for it. 

And every year that passes will become easier and harder. 
Easier because I will slowly forget – even now as I’m typing this, I barely remember the smell of you. The taste of you. The weight of you. 
Harder because the time will come when there will be a mini me and a mini you and my body will marvel at the loss that could’ve been. The families that might’ve been united. 

Harder still is the realization that you can’t really lose something you never had but the maybe, could’ve been will always fill you with a quiet ache. 

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