Alright. So I decided to try something new. It's been a while since I've been inspired to write anything so I've been playing around with voices, point of views, characters et cetera. And since I am always thinking about relationships and how they work and why they're so important, I decided to write a a little something from the other side, the side I've never really understood. This is a work of fiction and all characters and events are fictional.
I am writing to you because of the guilt I bear and cannot stand to bear it anymore. I have done some things that I am not proud of, some things that I'll never be able to take back.
It started the night of my birthday. My friends were throwing me a little fete and, of course, you couldn't be there again. I was feeling so lonely without you by my side and he, well, he was there. He took care of me and made me laugh and kept me company. I never meant for it to happen, I swear. He invited me back to his place, and I couldn't say no. I let him ravage me all night long. I'm not going to tell you I didn't enjoy it, because I did. But I swear, it's you that I love.
Yet, when he called me the next day I picked up. I couldn't help it. A big part of me wondered if he was feeling as guilty as I was. If he even cared that you existed. He was so sweet about the whole thing... We talked about everything. About him. About me. About everything and nothing at all. It's been so long since you and I have talked. Really talked. I won't let you make me feel guilty about this.
We started hanging out. Just innocent things. Drinking coffee. Listening to music. Watching movies. Discussing Picasso and dadaism and all those pretentious unimportant things people talk about. There was never a repeat of what happened on the night of my birthday. I think we both knew we wouldn't ever be able to return if we did. So we settled for coffee dates.
And after all that I turned around yesterday and looked you in the eye and said I love you. Do I even mean it anymore?
Yours always.
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