I'd rather not be writing this letter, but it seems like I have to. After all, we had our chance, but know I realize what it all truly meant...
It was the smell of your clothes that really gave it away. They smelled like those old places with a faint hint of your night sweat. I slept in your clothes for a while, and it took me longer than I would like to admit to realize I was doing this not because I missed you, but because I missed us.
Sometimes I'd be walking around the apartment and I'd find something that was still you: an old hoodie you used to wear to sleep, your favourite movies on the TV stand, the ingredients for a meal I left outside a couple of days ago that reminded me of that time when we cooked soup together.
And now, look where that's left me. I'm alone, depressed, and unhappy. I just wish to see your face one more time before I forget how you look because I am, but every time I see a picture of you my heart shatters to pieces and it stings like you personally just poured acid over a stab wound you made. I can't have you back and you can't wait for me. But you left without any warning, without any remorse of what you were leaving behind and now it seems so insignificant that I could ever mean something more than another mere person you had the inconvenience to meet and find mildly entertaining to care for.
This whole reality that I have created for myself when you left has just made me miserable. There is rotten food both on the kitchen counter and the fridge; the bathroom is just as you left it that night; the DVD player is still playing "The Silence of the Lambs"; I haven't eaten nor taken off your clothes nor had a proper shower in two months. People I used to hang out with have stopped talking to me; my friends have all decided that I am a lost cause; family never calls, not mum, not dad. Not even Gina, who I thought to be my best friend in the world, or Jackson, the only other person I could trust in to tell them something. Not even them, my siblings, seem to care what will come out of this situation for me.
But now we get to the great reveal. We get to the part where none of this mattered, ever; where everything is put into perspective. And it is my big revelation moment, isn't it.
Because you never really cared. You never really looked at me the way I looked at you. You never cared for me the same way I did for you. You never seemed to love me the way you did while at the same time you loved me less than anyone ever has. You didn't love me. You didn't leave me. You didn't leave me devastated, waiting for you to come back. I found the reason why it hurts so much to find and see a picture of us. I found out why I feel like ending it all and joining you in this dream, now nightmare. I know why. We know why. We always did. And it has always felt so real.
But you were never real, were you? You were never real. Not you and not me. Not us. No. Just me.
I hope I made myself clear. Don't contact me anymore, as I'll be unreachable after your death.
Love, Fran.
ns 172.70.100.176da2
and then Add to home screen.