Chapter Fifty - The Letters We Never Sent

CHAPTER FIFTY

The Letters We Never Sent

TO THE VERSION of you before we met:
I saw you once in a dream I forgot by morning.
You were laughing with someone who didn’t understand you.
And I wanted to tell you, Hang on.
Someone’s coming who will.

To the you from the first fight:
I didn’t know how to love you through my fear yet.
I raised my voice because I thought it made me strong.
I didn’t know softness was the real power.

You weren’t my enemy.
You were just hurt.
And I didn’t see it in time.

But I see it now.
And if I could go back, I’d hold you instead of trying to win.

To the you that almost left once:
I felt it.
That distance that crept into your voice, that silence that lasted a second too long.

You didn’t leave, but you thought about it.

And I wish I’d said then what I know now:
You were allowed to need more.
And I was capable of giving it.
I just didn’t know how to say, “Don’t go. I’ll learn. Stay.”

To the version of you after the baby:
I missed you.
Not just your body, not just the way we used to laugh until 2AM.
I missed you.

But I didn’t say it right.
I didn’t know how to ask for you without making you feel like you weren’t doing enough.

You were doing everything.
And I was in awe.

I wish I’d told you that.
Every day.
Out loud.

To the you on our quietest days:
Thank you for the silence.
For folding laundry beside me like it was sacred.
For grocery trips that felt like dates.
For sitting beside me, wordless, when I didn’t know how to talk about what was wrong.

You were never boring.
You were peace.

And I never said thank you enough.

To the you I still see in my dreams:
I’m still writing you letters.

I know we don’t need them now, but it comforts me to imagine there’s still something left to say.

So here’s one more thing I should’ve told you a thousand times:

You were it.
You were always it.
Even when I was tired.
Even when I forgot how to say it out loud.
Even when I didn’t know what I was doing.

It was always you.