dear lover,

i've never been the best at starting things like this, so i guess i'll start with the simplest way to say what i want to say; i'm sorry.

i am sorry that the world was not kind to me before you were in my life and because of that i grew an exterior so hard that even a drill has trouble penetrating it. i never told you this, but you cracked the surface like no one else has before. i think that's why this hurts so much.

i am sorry for all the times my voice raised higher than the sound of our laughter and i felt immediate regret when i saw the look in your eyes. i might mention that i'm also sorry it took me almost twenty minutes to apologize each time because the shame was so great i couldn't get my voice to work. i should have kept calm and been patient with you because that's all you ever were with me.

i am sorry for every time i called you an idiot, joking or not. you aren't an idiot. not at all. you are intelligent, so much so that you could see what was for the best when i could see nothing was wrong at all. if anything, i'm kind of an idiot sometimes.

i am sorry for every time i made a joke that i didn't realize might have hurt your feelings, especially the ones about your tastes in music and the things you enjoy. since you left, your 3 artists are all i can seem to listen to. if music is going to remind me of you, it might as well be YOUR music. to be fair, they're not as bad as i thought. most of the songs anyways.

i am sorry for any time that i made you feel like you had to choose between me and someone else. i would never make you choose. you can have me and anyone else that you'd like, as long as you can spare a few moments of your time for me each day. i never asked for all of it. i don't want all of it. i want you to have a life too, because i would never give up all of my time for anyone- not even you.

i am sorry for the sense of humour i have that made your loved ones dislike me. you see, i get nervous around new people- it comes with the anxiety- and because i get nervous, i automatically drift to humour as a defense mechanism. i often forget not everyone has the same warped sense that i do. i know you are not my possession. i never claimed or thought you were. it's unfortunate my illness affected their opinions so greatly.

i am sorry for the times i left your side to sleep on the couch. had i known our time would be so short, i would have sucked up the restlessness and pressed myself so tightly into your chest that it wouldn't have mattered that the bed was a little too small for both of us. i would have been by your side, and that's all that matters. i'm sorry for creating that distance between us, however small.

i am sorry that i am ill. i am working my best to get over it, and i hope that you can see that someday. i hope that one day instead of waking up and being shown out of the house that i wake up and get reminded to take my medicine in that low morning voice of yours that i love. i promise you i'm going to beat this. for me and for you both.

and lover, most of all, i am sorry for your loss. when you stepped away you took parts of me with you that i will never get back. even when we reuinite down the road, the pieces of me that you held onto will not fit back into their original places just right. i will still smile at you brighter than the sun is able to shine and i will still fill the nighttime with genuine laughter as we dance in the moonlight, but i may hesitate to tell you i trust you when you ask me at first. i may shy away from your touch not because someone else hurt me once upon a time, but because i am unsure if the gentleness in your hands is because you love me or because you want to let me down easy. so be patient with me. i'm sure with time it will be just as it was, but the right way this time.

dear lover, i know that this page is just a scratch on the surface of all the things i could and should apologize for, but it is a start. as time goes on, i'm sure more of these will find their way to you. i hope that you take them to heart. after all, that's why i write. if i put my heart on a page, the thoughts can't keep me up at night. would you believe me if i told you i haven't written like this in nearly three years? you don't know this, but you kind of saved me. for the first time in a long time i have clear skies and a full heart, thanks to you.

dear lover, leaving me to fly on my own for now was a good choice. i'm sorry it hurts so much, and i'm sorry that in my pain i hurt you too. please don't give up on our story just yet. i want to meet you on the other side of this, fall into your arms, and kiss these apologies into your lips. i'll see you again this summer.

love,

gabe.

dear lover,

i spent lots of time in a library today. both of the libraries i went to had signs that they hosts games of d&d. you can probably guess what that means. i spent lots of time thinking about you today. you and books.

i would hate being compared to a book, personally. mostly because i’m not something that you read and put down halfway through just because you don’t like the plot twist in the middle. besides, depression isn’t a plot twist in my book; it’s the thing me, the hero, tries to overcome in the second half of the book. the second half people never bother to read.

the story at the beginning is great though. at least that’s what i’ve heard. there’s got to be a reason people keep going past the cover, past the first chapter. right? it’s like a fairy tale, a dream come true. the perfect book.

and then it’s not perfect. but the expectation that the book is is already in your mind, so when it stops being less than perfect, it’s no longer worth reading. at least, that’s what i’ve been heard.

part two is still in progress though. every day a new page is written and each page past the initial ‘twist’ is better than the last. i don’t think that’s particularly special though. that’s the case with most people’s stories.

and then i got to thinking again. we, as in us together, are kind of like a book. actually, i feel perfectly fine calling us a book. we are a story that we are cowriting together. the story of us. god, isn’t that cliché?

the book of me and the book of us aren’t actually all that different. both start perfectly. both are the thing of dreams, everything you ever wanted in a story. and of course, both of these stories have less than perfect plot twists in the middle of them.

this is where the books start to differ.

the book of me is still open on a table, blank pages plenty, and more than enough words to fill the space. i have never put this book down. this is a book that i fight to write.

the book of us isn’t still being written. it’s an unfinished project, put on a shelf to collect dust and harbor memories either too dear to forget or too painful to remember so they don’t have to remain thoughts in our heads. the book of us was put down mid sentence, an infinite cliffhanger.

but i feel like it doesn’t have to stay that way. i feel like the authors of this book will come back to it one day, other books they’ve read since they put it down giving them inspiration and ideas on how they can make this book have a great ending. something that’s so perfect, it makes the beginning of the same book look like that less than perfect plot twist that stopped them mid-sentence and ask ‘now what?’

as for me, i know my book will continue to get better. my book is going to be so amazing that when i publish the next chapters, everyone will see red that they tried putting it down. my book will be one that captivates people and leaves them thinking about it for days on end. the one people recommend to their friends.

i hope that the books you read before you come back to the one we’re writing inspire you. i hope they fill you with knowledge on things you wanted to know and things you stumble on by surprise and end up loving. i hope that the book you’re writing yourself keeps getting better. in fact, i think i would almost call it the perfect book. almost.

there’s a perfect book for everyone out there. i’ve read a lot of books, and i have quite the collection of finished novels and epics on my shelf. i think maybe a thousand or so have laid themselves bare for my eyes to pour over their pages. and out of all of those books, ours is my favourite.

let’s finish it someday. sooner than later is preferred, but i’m reading a book right now on how to be patient.

gabe

dear lover,

i’m starting to find that the hardest part of this break is leaving you alone. it’s going to sound like such a ~millennial~ thing to say, but not being able to tag you in things i see that remind me of you is taking all of my self control.

i see you in lots of things. that’s the real problem. in the sweet posts people make about loved ones. in obscure humour i know you would love if you saw. in the music i discover that sounds like you. damn near everything.

my fingers have gotten into the habit of typing your name without thinking. i get to ‘pres’ a lot of times before the un-typed ‘ton’ hits me like it sounds- like a ton of bricks. 2000 pounds of force slam into my rib cage and shatter it when i realize i can’t do that anymore.

they say it takes 14 days to break habits and i keep starting over on day one every day. talking to you every morning was like, the highlight of my morning. i woke up early every day when i had that to look forward to, but now the time keeps getting later. i’ve fallen from 7:30 to 8:30 on the good days, 9 on the bad.

and the nights. the nights are even worse. i know what time you’re doing what because i memorized every last detail of you that i could. around 10:45 pm i feel the excitement bubble in my chest that you’re about to be home and wish me goodnight before you wind down and go to sleep. now it’s just anxiety and an aching reminder it’ll be a long time before that happens again.

fridays suck now. friday was my favourite day of the week because it usually meant spending the evening with you and falling asleep in your arms. fridays were for relaxing at home with you, curled up on the couch watching who knows what or doing what we were really good at- each other. what always happened though was us falling asleep in each others arms, you kissing me goodnight three times as always.

saturday mornings are a little rough too. you let me pick the saturday clothes and i always did my best to match your shirt and tie perfectly. the fact i no longer have to lift your tie up to count 3 buttons down to place your tie clip in the saturday morning sun while you smile down at me makes my fingers itch. i miss the morning coffee with your mom too. and the yoga. and just her positive, bubbly energy in general. i hate that she doesn’t like me anymore.

it’s been 12 days since i haven't been able to do any of those habits, so i’m sure by next friday, my body will have adjusted to the late mornings and even later nights and i will no longer be awake early enough to miss your presence while i’m awake.

dear lover, i promise i am trying my best to leave you alone, but it is so hard to stop myself from sharing the world with someone who is such a big part of mine. one day i will make it a full 24 hours without asking you a question or commenting on something you’ve posted. i promise. one day you will get the silence from me that you want and i’m sure that will make you happy. i’ll try my best to do it, because i never want to make you unhappy.

i will send my fingers to boot camp so they will untrain themselves from the habit of typing your name and deleting it, typing your name and deleting it, typing your name and deleting it, typing your name...you get it. at least for now.

one day i hope my fingers will be able to share the world with you again while we are apart. i hope they will be able to give you the back scratches you love and the attention to your beard that you adore. they will run through your hair and stop at your nape and give your neck the slightest of squeezes as our lips meet.

when that happens, i will have to retrain my lips to mold themselves against yours perfectly. i hope you are ready for the practice, because baby, we’ll need lots of it. after all, it can take almost 2 months to form a habit.

i love you,

gabe