My dearest L,
I love you. There. I’ve said it. And here you are reading this, hating me for it. Or maybe you pity me or maybe you just don’t care. I don’t know.
Tell me, is it easier now that I’ve moved out of the city, out of the state? Maybe you don't even know. Our circle of distant acquiesces don’t even intersect anymore.
Do you remember when, back in college, I was asked what I wanted out of life and I said “I just want to be content.” Everyone laughed, everyone but you. God, I hope you’re content. Because I love you. Even when you stopped answering my calls. Even when you promised to go to my wedding and never came. Even after all these years of silence.
Yes, I can safely say that of all the people in the world, L, I have loved you the longest. You were kind when even my closest friends weren’t. You tried to protect my innocence, my soul, my sanity. You cared for me even when I didn’t care for myself. I know it, I do, and it just eats me up inside.
I’m such a selfish person, aren’t I? But this, this I won’t do to you. I’ll never send this letter. I’ll let my painful memory fade. I'll allow the love you had for me to die. Please forgive me. Because, L, I love you too. It just isn't the way you wanted.