I’m so tired of loving you.
Of holding a space
you can never fill.

Your absence
is all-consuming,
constant.
It presses.
It stings in stillness.

I close my eyes,
and your face
is still waiting for me there.

I don’t want to forget you.
I just want the remembering
to stop tearing me apart.

If there’s a way
to stop loving you
without falling apart,
please-
show me how.
I’m too tired to keep trying,
and too full of you
to stop.

This is probably the least exciting love letter you've ever read. Maybe my love for you doesn't excite you, it doesn't feel like a challenge or like anything you can win.
I don't want you to win me, I don't want there to be a winner. I want truth, understanding. I want you to see in me what I see in you. I want to give you, to show you, life.
But you already have that, you can learn nothing from me; you can use my brain to think, you can use every part of my being, but you can never learn from me.
This isn't my love for you that writes these lines; my love for you is happy, sunny, green, it is filled with memories of your smile and brown eyes. This is my premature regret, my fear of losing you, my acknowledgement of the free will you gave me, the one that I cannot bring myself to use to make you feel this void inside me that calls your name.
Maybe this is a plea, a way for me to beg you to accept me. Maybe it's reassuring to think that if I say it a certain way, it might disgust you less. I don't want to repel you.

I have never truly been alone.
I have always written to an audience, to someone.
Someone who sees in me even what I don't see in myself.
I am always being watched.
At night, my pillow watches.
In the kitchen, the window watches.
On a walk, the leaves whisper warnings in the wind.
I don’t understand when people ask what I’m like when I’m alone
because I have never truly been alone.

Every word I say

already belongs to the past.
Every sentence ends before I’m ready,

just like us.

They say every beginning has an end—

but not every end was given a start.

Like love, 
which crept in silent

the moment loneliness collapsed.

Love met my solitude and said,

“You’ve waited long enough.”

but love never promised forever.

You didn’t either.

I’m not ready to turn the page

if you're not written in the next.

The world stands still for you—
pauses in awe.

Even time stares.

Yet you keep moving,

and I stay frozen—

still stuck

in the moment you left.

Are you real?

Was your love real?

Were we?

I question the truth of you,

the truth of us.

The future fades,

but your face lingers in the dark.

I ask and ask

but all I do

is think of you.

We all die in the end.

Some die with joy,

others with silence.

I will die with sorrow

because my hands won’t be in yours.

For those who break, 
all that's left is breath.

For those who wait, only pain.

Time stops—you move.

Time moves—I don’t.

When you walk away,

I ask if you ever truly loved.

When I stop chasing,

you wonder if I ever truly stayed.

The final moment is always the first.

The first touch, the last ache.

For your dream, I am parched.

For your voice, I starve.

With you,

I feel like less than whole—a soul missing its mirror.

But without you,
there is no half.

There is only 
nothing.

If it does not fit
In something you can carry
Then it possesses you

Love, a priceless ring
A diamond or emerald
In a classic setting