Dear Love,
I know it is unexpected, infact is very unwarranted that I have left this letter behind for you to find, or not find. I know you must be wondering why I did it? You probably stay up every night wondering what you must have done wrong? I know you are always gnawing over all the “ifs”.
If only you knew all the right words to say just to have me open up, but the truth is there were none. No words spoken would have changed my mind. There are many more ways we could communicate, and honestly you’ve done it all.
You’ve sat with me on all those silent nights, through the rain, through the snow, and do you remember the night we sat in the hail storm?
I remember you sitting there . . . laughing at the silliness of our state.
You lent me a hand on nights I’ve laid unconscious. Cried over my bedside and yelled out in frustration when I could not hear you, but all of that lays silent now.
I’ve told you numerous times I just wanted the quiet. . . I’ve found it now.
Is it peaceful? Probably not.
I would not advise you to follow after my footsteps.
Maybe my blueprint ends here, but yours can still be revised.
I am not writing this to tell you I forgive you. What is there to forgive when you’ve done nothing wrong?
Love, this is the letter I would have written you if I did not land myself in this coma.
Make no mistake, I can live with my decisions at the end of my life, but can you live with yours?
When you breathe your last breath will you be satisfied?
Let me advise you now, pull the plug, end the suffering for both of us. Nothing will come of this self torture. Stop gnawing on all the “ifs” and start thinking about the possible. Start living again.
For me?
No. For yourself.
For all the “cans” and move on from the “already happened”.
Stop calling upon my exhausted and depleted soul.
Let us meet again if there is an afterlife.
But how can we “meet again” when you refuse to let it all go?
I am not asking for you to forget, I am just asking you to move on.
My Love, this is my last request, find yourself and finish your own story.
Don’t let me be your last chapter, as you were mine.
Move on my Love,
~Your Dearly Departed
P.S. In case you were wondering, you were the best chapter of my heavily drafted life. Now maybe you can write me in as just one of your many chapters in your final draft. Like you’ve said, life is always just a work in progress. . . even until it is not.
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