Dear Spencer,

This letter is a long time coming, I guess. I left abruptly, and I owe you an apology. So here it is. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for allowing you to think for three years that I left because of you. I’m sorry for ignoring your pleas and desperate letters. I’m sorry for tearing your heart to shreds. I’m sorry that the only other time I have had contact with you was at that diner, and I’m sorry I grabbed a random guy at the diner and kissed him, just for you to see. Most of all I’m sorry for acting like I didn’t notice when these things hurt you. I’m just plain sorry.

But I didn’t write this letter to tell you I’m sorry. I just knew you would like it if I said sorry first, and that you deserved it. You like it when things have closure. You like it when books don’t end until enemies are friends and everyone is hugging. You must have wanted me to say I was sorry, which was part of the reason I didn’t do it for three years. But now I did it, because I’m done hurting you.

I left so quickly, because I couldn’t bear to say goodbye. I didn’t want to see your face when I told you it was over. I didn’t leave because of you, I left because I felt lost, and needed some time to figure out what I wanted to do in this world. I just let you think it was because of you, because I didn’t want you to think I was silly. I didn’t answer your letters, because I wanted you to forget about me, to move on with somebody who deserved you.

I broke your heart so you would hate me. I thought that, just maybe, if I made you hate me, you would be able to leave me in the past. I was hoping to give you your precious closure. I’m sorry for the guy at the diner. I swear I didn’t know him, I just wanted you to think I was over you, and for you to get over me, because when I looked at your face that night I could tell you hadn’t. I had to show you it was time to let go.

If it means anything to you, anything at all, I knew what I was doing hurt you. It killed me to do it and pretend I didn’t care. But I wanted – no I needed you to hate me. I couldn’t bear dragging you into my internal struggles. You, so sweet and innocent, thinking you could help me. Well, you couldn’t help me. And you were just going to be torn apart in the process. I know I ended up killing your heart in the end, but it wasn’t supposed to go that way. You were supposed to get the message, and leave me alone. Why didn’t you?

I tried to help you, but I just made it worse. And I am so, so sorry. I spent three years trying to “find myself”. You try finding yourself in the ‘60s. It was a wild ride. And when I got my life back on track, I realized all I had found is an empty spot where my heart was supposed to be. I realized that to find myself, I had to find the person who held it. I broke both of our hearts and lived the life of the hippie for three years just to find out that you have held my heart the whole time.

I love you Spencer. There – it’s out. I love you, and I hate myself for hurting you. Which is why I’m sending this letter. To ask you if, maybe, after everything I have done to you, you still love me as much as I love you. If that’s why you wouldn’t let go of me, I’m so, so sorry. It has taken me a long time to realize I feel the same way.

If you’ve moved on I don’t blame you. If you’re still mad, I don’t blame you. If you hate my guts, I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you if you have forgotten all about me, and, in fact, if you have, kudos. You have more self-control than me. So if you never wanted to hear from me again, I’m sorry for sending this. Burn this letter, curse my name, spit on my memory. But know that, despite doing my best to show I’d stopped caring, I still love you, and I wish you the best, whether you respond to this letter or not.


I’ll love you forever,
Sophie

“Grandma, Grampa?” A little girl rifles through an old box of letters under her grandparents’ bed. “Do you have a story to tell me?”