I thought I could, but I’m not as strong as you think I am.
Maybe you didn’t think I was strong enough, to begin with, but that’s neither here nor there.
I can’t do it and am unsure how to tell you. It’s not as simple as it plays out in my head. Because once you pop up in my head, it’s simply the start of a million “what if” scenarios.
I’ve gotten better, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
I think I learned how to ask for help, and I didn’t need you for it. Even if you were the first person, I wanted to call when it happened.
You’re not here anymore, and I have to face the fact. If you wanted to be here, you would be. Even if you think it all falls on me.
My perspective versus yours, I know. Nobody will ever want to admit to the fault. I guess I’ll just take it, and I’m okay with that thought. I guess it’s not easy as I thought it’d be.
This is the last piece of writing that will ever be about you. I’m sending the rest to the stars.
They already know all about you; I think they even told Mars.
That’s how much I felt for you; the universe talks about it. I wonder how much doubt they’ll have when I tell them it’s for real this time.
So I guess this is it, for real. Maybe I just met you in another universe, and I could write to you for the rest of eternity. That’s not the case now, so I’ll just take the loss.
This will be the last piece of writing I write you that you’ll never get to read.