Dear you,

We could have been perfect. I’m writing this knowing there is no one on the other end to receive it, like sending a bottle out to sea. It feels strange that we are so alike and yet complete opposites at the same time, two stars that share the same orbit but never collide.

I remember once you said that if we had met under different circumstances, we might have made it work, and I thought that was really funny. Maybe I just have this strange habit of laughing in scary situations. I know I love you, and I’m allowed to feel that. I don’t want you to do anything about it, not because of how we met, but because I’m not ready for it; perhaps I’m not even sure I want it. Still, it’s okay to care. Deep down I think you’re better off without me, which is sad to admit. There’s a quiet fear that one day, when you decide to stop reaching out, I’ll be really sad. This might be the greatest thing I could ever deserve in this lifetime.

Sometimes I ask myself: if it were just us in this world, would we still hate what we’re doing? That thought sits heavy in my chest. Even in that imagined simplicity, I’m not sure the answer would change.

If someday you’re ready for love, I will be happy for you. May a trace of me linger in the corners of your memory. We shared something small and secret, like a promise whispered on a playground. I hope you know how much I cared. I just don’t think I’m the right one for you, not here, not now.

Not in this lifetime, anyway.