To the one that I lost,
Tonight I watched a meteor shower with a boy. He was a very nice boy- more than nice, he was charming and funny and kind, and we ran barefoot under the stars to dance to our favourite song at the party, and he lent me his blue velvet jacket and pulled me up onto the wall to sit with him. And we watched the shooting stars, and he held my hand and turned his head, and we kissed. And it was a very nice kiss. And that’s why I hated you right at that moment.
Because I know, that every time I ever do something like that; watching silver bursts of light on the midnight blue, or kissing someone with the music playing behind my back, or dipping my legs in the freezing river with my party clothes still on, I will think of you. And I will think of running through the sand dunes and lying with you by the fire on the beach and your guitar and your smell and your brown hands and your hands in my hair and your lips on mine and our favourite songs together, and the ones we wrote together, and the nights we would lie under the same blanket I still use and you would just hold me tight and I would never have bad dreams.
So because of you, the poor boy in the blue velvet smoking jacket can text me and ring me and meet me for coffee, but he will never be you. And I will not love him, and I will think of you every time I look into his eyes, every time I see his blonde hair and not your golden hair, and you will follow me to the ends of the earth.
But as much as I hate you for that, I still love you. And I hate that as well. So I will not send this, but I will write the words to get them out of me, because otherwise I will never be rid of you.
With all my love,
— Love Letters at 1.41 AM