Yesterday I wrote you a six page letter. It was a spontaneous idea, but I been thinking about you so much for the last few weeks that it didn’t surprise me that I eventually came to do it. Whether or not I decided to post that letter, though, was another matter. I thought about you receiving it and what you might think after you finished the last line on the sixth page. I wondered what your reaction might be and what might be going through your head. I wondered if the letter would mean anything to you at all, or just end up in the bin with all the other reminders of me.

I don’t know what I hoped would come out of writing it. Mostly I just wanted to write my feelings down and possibly consider sending it to you so that you know how I’m feeling as well. You know that kind of thing has always been important to me and a habit I’ve developed as a writer. I wasn’t sure if you would contact me in some way after reading it or if you would just let the endless silence continue. I wasn’t sure if you would want to talk to me about anything in the letter or if there was anything you wanted to say in response to it.

I don’t know what I’ll do if you do decide to call me or text me. I have so much to say to you and yet I know I would struggle to find the right words to say if you did. For the last few months I’ve thought about what I might say to you if you did decide to talk to me again. I wondered whether I would be angry or upset. Whether I would want to cry and push you away for hurting me or pull you close because I still care about you so much. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to make up my mind and do both.

I hate how easy it was for you to move on. I hate how you could leave things the way you did (messy, rushed and unfinished), and be happy with someone else only two months later. It hurts. If it was me, I would feel so guilty for all the hurt I would have caused you and for leaving things in such a sloppy way that I wouldn’t be able to move on. I would have to go back and put things right, end it properly before I could move on with a clear mind. But that’s just me. I guess you’ve always done things differently to me and there are some things about you that I will never understand or agree with.

I was doing my best moving on, that was until I saw you the other week. You were sitting in your car, stuck in traffic on the motorway, and I was coincidently in the next lane and slowly drove past yours as ours was moving a wee bit quicker. Even before my car was next to yours in the lanes, I knew it was you from the first glance. I could tell from the beard and the cap. I could tell from the shape of your face. After all, I have looked at your face so many times in the last year; all those times we were lying on my bed and you had your eyes closed because you were tired from work. I could tell it was you just from the car – it just looked like the kind of car you would have and drive.

My stomach was doing flips and my heart was beating so fast in my chest I swear you could hear it as I drove past you. I was half expecting you to look out the window and see me there, on your right. I’m not sure if you did end up seeing me but I guess it doesn’t really matter regardless; all that matters is that I saw you. I had just been on holiday for a week, trying to clear my mind and help myself move on, and before I had even made it back home I had already seen you – just by total coincidence. And here I was thinking that a week away would be good for me and exactly what I need after the ways things ended with you.

As brief as it was, this was the first time I’ve seen you in months – this year in fact. I think the time before that was in November when you came over on your day off and told me that you were staying in New Zealand because your plans to go travelling for a year hadn’t worked out. It seems like a lifetime ago now, and I had no idea at the time that that would be the last time I saw you for a good few months. I had no idea what was about to happen or the way things were going to fall apart before I had a chance to put them back together.

You really hurt me. But it was only when I saw you the other week that I realised how much I miss you, too. How is it possible to miss someone so much that has hurt you? I should hate you, but I don’t. I should not ever want to talk to you again, but I do. You mean too much to me and I still care too much. Unfortunately, those things don’t just disappear because you decided to hurt me. I wish it was that simple but it’s not.

Like I said, I don’t know what I was expecting to happen after deciding to send you that letter. You might not do anything or you might do something, I have no idea. I’ll have to wait and see.


Lucy Rebecca x


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