Love letter # 193

I gave you up for dreams – and what were those dreams? Just conceits I conceived. I see your smile in that old photograph and I am crushed by the simple weightlessness of it. And to think, I walked away for baubles. They are the rubble about me now. I cannot even remember what made them attractive … but you – you I never forgot. The memory of your tenderness puts me to shame. What a fucking arrogant prick I was.

Yes, I am sorry – for myself and also for you. I let you believe I was somehow different. You gave me your love and I mistook it for a toy. When it was inconvenient I simply discarded it. I know we are all free to come and go as we choose but freedom is a lie if its cost is cruelty.

I am old enough – bruised enough – humbled enough to know that every dream I ever dreamed is nought compared to waking up in the arms of love. You knew that all along. I was too busy with myself.

My own cuts I can bear, but not yours. I’m sorry you had to wear the cost of my folly and I pray that you can look at that same photo now and feel a whole lot better about it than I do.

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