Love letter # 107

Maybe you thought I was perfect once. I didn’t. A mask won’t fool a mirror.

All along, I was the one who judged. I was the arrogant reformer. You humbled me with your acceptance and I acted like I was the one being held down. You gave me treasure and I hid it in a drawer.

Did I think I could make you better? Was I that far up myself? Better than what, I now wonder. Better than someone who loved me?

When I said I didn’t deserve you maybe I was hoping you would let me off the hook; absolve me of my inability to care about anybody else. If only you’d woken up – then I could still be sleeping.

Now I can’t even apologise; because sorry is the ultimate vanity. I’m not really sad for you, I’m sick for myself. It’s my conceit I regret, not your wasted investment in me.

I feel awful just thinking it. Trapped. Unable even to make amends. Everything is stained with self. I am me – through and through – and there is no room for you.

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