An open letter to... well, you know who you are

Photo taken here.

Dear you,
First things first: I've missed you a lot. There, I said it. I tried to avoid telling you, but after you said it to me last night, so softly, so sincerely, how can I not admit it? I've missed you badly these last few weeks.

I've been (successfully) distracting myself. There's so many other things I need to deal with, so it wasn't too hard to avoid thinking of you.

Except that I dream about you. A lot. I wake up in the middle of the night, whimpering your name, tears in the corners of my eyes.


Denying that I was am in pain works pretty well most days. Still, at night, when I'm stuck in the commute on the way home, it hits me: that I may never get to hold you again, or fall asleep on your lap with you stroking my hair, or get a good night kiss on the forehead. Then I can't quite catch my breath for a while.

Pretending not to care was idiotic on my part. One does not simply stop thinking about you. For how many months did we spend together? On and off, on and off—my friends don't even believe me anymore when I say it's over. To be honest, I don't believe it myself sometimes.

All I can think about right now is how we parted last night. A kiss, an embrace, a searching look in our eyes as though trying to find something we've lost. We were waiting for the other to say those three precious words, so obviously on the tips of our tongues, and your words came tumbling out in a rush, just as I turned to go. I paused for a fraction of a second before saying it back, unsure.

How do I end this letter, anyway? I don't know, because I don't even know where we stand. If there is even still a "we".

So I'll end this letter with the only thing I know for sure:
I love you.