We talked of such a lofty kind of love and admiration. One so high it had to be preserved. You talked about its preservation and I agreed.

This was special. It was unique. It was glorious. I could think. I could write. I could inhabit my gifts.

And then I got so sick. And you disappeared.

I felt such betrayal. How could you speak of how you loved me so ardently and not have known the misery in which I languished last year, just down the street from your apartment?

I didn’t need you because I needed. I needed you because my soul forgot its own name and you were the only one to have spoken it.

And then you starved it. And I became lost in a whirlpool of questioning reality.

My beautiful words were gone. They became ordinary and cheap. And you read along as I chronicled my year of suffering like some voyeur, instead of a kindred soul who lived ten minutes away.

I didn’t need a fan. I needed a friend incarnate. I needed to not feel so alone and scared and tired. You had the power to absolve me of some of that pain.

But you were careless, and you let all the goodwill we built wither away until even the foundation was undermined.

I was worth something to you once. We lifted each other up. To be abandoned by the only person who understood what real loneliness was…it felt intentional.

You didn’t appreciate me when I was weak and sick. I felt that I could slip into the cracks of oblivion and you would never miss me. You, the one person who saw me as I hoped to be seen. I needed to be told that I was worth fighting for. A kind word from you would have made all the difference.

I exist! I exist! While you forgot about me I continued to exist! And when I came out of my depression and sickness, I’d done it without you. I fought my way back from hell to reclaim that version of me you adored. You didn’t miss her when she was gone. You didn’t want to help me fight for her.

You didn’t deserve her when she came back. I kept waiting for you to make yourself worthy. No one else would understand. To them I sounded like some deluded woman in love with a boy. How conventional and pathetic. How could they understand?

These are words I’ll never say to you. These are words you’ll never get to hear. This is pain you can’t possibly understand…until you’ve felt what I felt this year for yourself. It’s unfortunate. I don’t wish it upon you. Breaking into pieces and gluing oneself back together is the loneliest feeling in the world.

I forgive you for not understanding. I forgive me for being clumsy in how I conveyed it. If I’d known the magic words I would have spoken them. That’s the irony of it all.