Posted by Sophie Westrope on April 6, 2014 · Leave a Comment
Sometimes I lay awake at night wondering how different my life would have been if I’d have stayed with you. Would I still be unhappy? Would we be better? Would we be planning our future on a rickety foundation or would we have finally found the bricks to build something strong by now?
A part of me still waits for you to return. Always waiting patiently to hear your voice again, ready to bundle me up into your big safe arms. For you to hold me close and tell me you’re home and everything will be okay now.
I still await a call, a message, a note to tell me that I’m forgiven. That you might still love me. That there’s still a chance we could be us again.
In my weakest moments I ready myself to write a dear apology imploring you to speak to me, to tell me you’ve missed me too. But I know that loneliness’ voice is loud and speaks only in the darkest of times. Its misery takes over, reaching for the possibility of a rendezvous which will never come.
Only a fool would want to return to a love lost. Only a fool would yearn for the sadness our love brought me. Only a supercilious moron would want to reminisce of days gone by that were filled to the brim with sodden pillows, wet from salty tears. Would ask once again for the constant ache of missing her lover.
You were and always will be my first love, good man. But you won’t be my last.
I hope you think of me from time to time and I hope you take a moment to wish me well, to think of me fondly.
I wish you nothing but the best and hope that one day we might speak once again so I can hear the tone of your voice as it speaks my name. I hope also that you have love in your life, lots of it. I hope life treats you kindly, my dear. For you were the kindest soul I had ever known.
