Dear Val,
I am writing to you, because there is no other way to say what is to be said. And more of a question is - is there anything to be said? We were not given a lot of time, eight months together. And as I am writing, tears slide down my cheeks because I remember all the good things.

First of all, you brought back the color to my life. After I had my major down, meeting you on April 4 was like grass getting greener and leaves unfurling on the trees. Like spring in its full bloom. I saw the world through rose tinted glasses. And my world was you.

Talking to you felt effortless. I could spend hours doing it and getting to know your soul. From listening to your voice to the way you typed your messages. I find you everywhere without looking for you. Next to me is my notebook - the black one, you liked it. Or two green highlighters and green is your favorite color. I thought pink was my favorite color until I saw your beautiful brown eyes.

I remember watching swans and taking a picture just for you. And swans mate for life, remember? It was silly of us to think it is going to last, given the distance and the fact we are 17. But I know what we had, at least what I felt towards you was real.

I've never liked writing or more like, I've never tried it. But I remember casually mentioning a guy writing 365 letters for every day he was away. That was long before we started dating, it was after you talked to me about your latest heartbreak. You said something along the lines 'I don't even know what I'd do for that'. And that was everything I needed to know that I'll turn into a writer. And I always wanted to be the reader. (and the 'something along the lines' I picked it up from you and can't help to think about you when I say it).

I don't think it was supposed to be any other way. And let me explain: out of all letters I've written during almost 4 months of us dating, I sent you 5. There were 33. I wanted to make this notebook for our anniversary, with random letters, just my thoughts, letters about tea or maybe about what I like in you.

Of course I loved your eyes the most. They're dark brown, like good coffee at dawn - not in a harsh and bitter way. They're something I wanted to cherish every morning. With eyelashes that look like autumn leaves swaying in the wind. So innocent, like a pretty boy kissing his pretty girl. And your thick eyebrows that frame it like an artwork. Arch lifting and moving and changing just slightly to point out to what you're feeling. And the crease where salt gathers. And your smile. Or your puppy eyes. I cannot forget them.

I wanted to make you the notebook and I sat down to write every time I missed you. And I never sent these letters. I don't think I have any copy of them. I tried to get rid of everything. The problem was - you didn't love me that way.

I mentioned multiple times how much it'd mean to me if you wrote me anything. And you never did. And it is not like I enjoyed writing or enjoyed drawing silly stuff for you. But when the recipient was obviously you, it felt effortless, and I think that is how love is supposed to feel.

I asked you straight-forwardly whether you can write me something. And you never did. And what do you mean you cannot express why do you love me? The problem isn't linguistic, it's the lack of love and depth.

And now walking around the house I remember every single place. How I was so excited texting you in the place I am right now in. Texting you and smiling like crazy. Here I was also writing the love letters - first typing them, I wanted them to be perfectly handwritten later.

And I think I just wanted to be loved. And I cannot help but feel like I was actually only used. It hurts me so much to think about the good moments and then remember how you acted in the end. How I 'felt like a chore', while you were the one who asked for sleeping on a call. How I felt like you stayed so long only for my body. And it's funny because I'd never expect my boy best friend to do so.

We broke up 6 weeks ago. It is Christmas. I miss you. My mom asked me about you. I wonder how is Elvis. I wonder how is your mom or your grandma. But yes, Elvis first, our baby.

What hurts me is that you probably deny ever loving me. Or what hurts me is that it did not work out. How could you say all these things, talk like that, look at me that way and then get up and leave? You promised you're not this kind of a person. Yet you still did it, you got up and left. Randomly.

When I come across a quote I like I always wish you were there. I wish you were there. So much. I did extremely well on my C1 German exam, got maximum points on the speaking part. And I just couldn't tell you. And on listening part, I kept thinking about you. I did not feel not even an ounce of stress. I felt quite empty? If that is the right word.

So anyway when I come across a quote, I always wish you were there just to write you one more letter. But what I wish for more is that you were even half as thoughtful and wrote me. I hope I gave you this kind of love that sets your soul on fire and your mind is at peace. I hope you will cherish the time we grew in love and learnt.

You were often horrible and said mean things. And you know I have the tendency to overlook the bad things. Not a single person in my life was sad about the break up. I am not sad either. I know I deserve someone who treats me better, someone who shows up, is consistent and doesn't spend 4 free days away from his girl.

And somehow I still hope that we will look at a sky, irritated with stars. My whole life was created by three consonants and four vowels said out loud: I love you.

It hurts to know that you realized you don't see us together after 8 months. It hurts you said it after saying I am the cherry on top in your life 2 weeks earlier. It hurts to know that I might have fallen in love with lies. But after all, my intentions were pure.

I couldn't forgive myself for spilling your secret to your friend after the break up. But now, after hearing what you say, I don't think it was that bad. If the break up did not hurt, something else will. And what a coincidence we spent 8 months together and you lost interest just after seeing my body.

And I hate the fact I still remember the good things. I wish I could erase you from my memory. I wish I could erase talking you to sleep, and how you said that "you just want to listen to your wife's voice". How you said there is nothing ugly about me. How you complimented every single thing in my body and my insecurities vanished. I think about you when my mom braids my hair or when I have them loose. I think about you when I put that pointing finger on my lip - my signature pose.

I know I will be okay. I will be okay and I will find someone who appreciates me. Still, it hurts that you did not. And there is no other lifetime, another universe. You did not fight for us, you did not write, you did not try. I wish you tried to reach out over mail. And you never did. And that's it.

I'll cherish every July night we spent together. And every night we slept on a call.


tu media naranja :)