To her.

It’s been awhile since we’ve gotten along. I didn’t really know how to make this better, how to make amends. I suppose I’m trying to help you but there’s part of you that has completely shut down and I know that still grieves you more than anything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened; that we became enemies and I blamed you for your ‘own stupid naiveness’. That was so unfair. We needed to stick together, to realise those red flags had nothing to do with you. You were never at fault. I hate that we were too immature to know what to do, to think that if he was overpassing this as the most normal thing in the world, that we should’ve been too. That was wrong. We would scream at each other because although our morals were the same, we chose to deal with them in separate ways. I’d yell at you because it felt so abnormal, and not in a good way. Not in a this is a good change. It felt like an awful change. We were thrown into a foreign world so conflicting of the values we loved together. But you fell, and thought they were suddenly ridiculous, but truthfully I know, deep down, that you still hoped for them more than anything. You still do. You do believe it’s possible, I know you do. And yes, the world is full of those people who think your morals are so outdated and silly but that’s how we fell in love with each other in the first place. That’s the part of us that made us so powerful together. And I love, that even though we were vicious at war with one another back then, that we still agreed that it was best to keep that part of us locked away for someone truly special. We knew none of them have been special. If they had been special, I wouldn’t be writing this letter to you in the first place.

I just need to make it known to you that I miss you.

And I’m sorry.

I’m sorry we got lost in the mess and everyone was at war so we got into one ourselves. It’s like the grief of it all pushed us to self-abandonment.

You woke up early on a Monday morning. I remember this more than anything. You were wearing the white crop top from yesterday, the airconditioner gently blowing warm air around. The wall beside you flashed with faces that looked ready to topple and crush you.

‘You fucking idiot,’ I whispered.

You burst into tears.

I sat there, shaking my head in fury as you cried like I’ve never heard you before.

‘I feel ill,’ you sobbed.

I shook my head again, ‘It’s your own fucking fault.’

We were at a loss with each other.

But one day, I don’t even know how, but something of similar worth finally sparked in us at the same time. I think because we hung out together again, almost out of nowhere. The shitty times had eased and we agreed on peace. We had a lovely day together. We found our love for stories again, became so fucking inspired. We made a new friend that day, that we never saw again, but a sense of hope was born. We were giggling and happy and decided to randomly pick up a guy that day, because why the fuck not? It was such a random day. It should’ve been such a good day.

And then we went to lunch together.

Those words were said.

He spat his melancholy on your roll.

And the life was sucked out of you.

I looked at you, the unappetizing half-eaten roll falling apart in your shaky hands.

‘Don’t eat it,’ I told you.

You did.

Your eyes went black like that Monday months ago. Like sauce, he oozed your happiness into his sandwich, as though we could feed him with the same glee we had just ten minutes prior.

‘Maybe you should get up and leave,’ I said softly.

You shook your head, ‘I don’t want to make a scene.’

‘You’re allowed to. You’re hurt.’

‘I always do this.’

‘And so does he,’ I hissed, as he sucked your jealousy off of his fingertips.

I held your hand as we left. It was cold. On the outside, you played as though nothing was wrong. He only saw that. I didn’t. I saw the ridiculousness in how much effort you put in to looking beautiful. I know you felt exactly that that morning when we left the house. It swelled when that stranger 4 hours ago told you the same thing.

So suddenly, you were hideous.

I saw that despair in you.

‘I’ve tried…everything,’ you whispered as your lips laughed with him.

‘I know,’ I said truthfully.

‘I’m competing in an impossible game,’ you continued. ‘I’ll never be good enough.’

I didn’t say anything, because this was something I agreed on.

‘Let’s go for a walk. Just you and me. We need to talk about this.’

‘No, I can’t leave him,’ you insisted. ‘I’ll regret it. He’ll know something’s wrong. I’m sick of crying and fighting; I can get over this. If I’m left alone with you, you’ll make me feel like shit, I know you will.’

‘Maybe I won’t this time, maybe you need to realise that he’s the only one doing that,’ I said softly.

‘I can’t risk it. I’m sorry. You don’t come first.’

‘You know I should, though.’

We arrived at the park. I know my words were sinking in. You stayed silent until I guided you over to the playground. I sat you on the swing, pushed you as he left us to talk. Maybe he saw me this time.

‘You should leave,’ you said to me. ‘You’ll ruin this.’

I shook my head, yanking the chain back so you jerked to a stop in front of me. ‘You were having a good day.’

You looked down.

‘You were having a good fucking day! We were! Stop blaming me for this. Stop blaming yourself. Tell me why you’re insecure again?’

You didn’t say anything. You looked in someone else’s direction.

For the first time, you nodded.

We sat on the grass. You sat closer to me than him. That hadn’t happened in months, but I could tell how unsure you were by me. So was he.

He saw me.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked me.

‘You are evil,’ I replied, looking at the pretty broken girl next to me, picking at grass.

‘I don’t want to go to work,’ she moaned over the top of me, so that he only heard snippets of my anger.

I held your hand as we walked up the hill. Your fingers squeezed my palm, as though you missed it. I didn’t say anything, though he talked louder as though trying to deafen you from hearing me. He was trying to shut me up as usual. I let him have it this time.

He took me away from your grip, but this time, you didn’t let go willingly. You refused to look at him or me. He let you have that last broken word, as you pulled free of his arms, looking somewhat disgusted.

‘I’m done,’ you said to me as your hand touched the gate.

I couldn’t even think, finally. It wasn’t relief. There was no sense of empowerment in that decision. You weren’t walking away with your head held high. When we looked in the mirror at work, there was not a sense of because you deserve better. It was pure defeat. It was you were the best person you could be. You were the most gorgeous you could make yourself. And he wants to let you know that your efforts will never be good enough.

You held it in and you were so fucking brave. I know you were trying to ignore your pain as you walked down the hill home. I know you played as though nothing had happened as you were greeted inside. You excused yourself, climbed the stairs, collapsed on the bathroom floor and threw up tears into my arms.

‘I can’t do it,’ you kept repeating. ‘This is torture. It’s not fair.’

I couldn’t even tell you, I told you so because I was hurting too. Because, truthfully, I think we both wanted to be proved wrong. Because even he made out as though the impossible wasn’t all that unachievable.

‘I’m so tired,’ you sobbed, your head resting against my chest. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’

I shook my head, holding you tight.

‘You can’t, so we’re gonna have to get through this together.’

You nodded.

‘And we’re going to write,’ I frowned with an evil smile. ‘That book, you know the one, we will finish it together. And this will be where it ends. You’re not leaving this horrible heartbreak without that win.’

You nodded again.

You spent that weekend in anxious grief. I held your hand when you hid your phone. I told you to put it down as soon as you opened those notifications. You were getting stronger the more you opened them and immediately put your phone down, but then you opened one and you burst into tears. You showed me the picture and fury sparked up in me as you sobbed, ‘He’s rubbing it in my face.’

‘She’s who he was talking about,’ your crushed heart sung. I turned blue fairy lights on, stroked your hair back and held you. ‘I can’t win.’

‘You will,’ I promised you, though I didn’t know. I still don’t. Because now, we’re both so drained and damaged still that we still lost. In the end, we all lost. But we won our love for each other again.

You drunk a large glass of wine on the hardest night of your life, it seemed. No one knew what this night meant except for me.

‘Do you want to go write?’

You nodded and we retreated upstairs. I fingered the typewriter on our desk. You collapsed on the bed instead.

I sat beside you, ‘A movie?’

You shrugged, your eyes empty.

‘Whenever you were upset, you used to read a book. Even when you were little, you know that was the thing that calmed your emotions and took you away for awhile.’

You shook your head again.

‘Disney movies are always a good-’

‘There’s nothing I can watch where I won’t feel sorry for myself,’ you replied bluntly. ‘I don’t want to watch romances, I don’t want to watch happy movies, I don’t want to read anything depressing. I don’t want to sit at my desk, typing out the words that fucked me up most. Nothing will bring me up, nor do I want it to.’

‘Okay. Maybe go to bed then. It’ll take hours to sleep anyway, so best do it before we realise what will happen.’

I tried what best I could. I lugged your clothes off and pulled on pyjamas as you stood there blankly. I brushed your teeth, pulled the weight of blankets back as you slipped in. Blue fairy lights twinkled overhead as I let your favourite gentle songs sing to you.

After 12 of them, you remained awake.

I turned them off and held you. Your phone lit up, reminding you.

‘I’m scared to open them,’ you admitted. I know what you were scared of seeing.

I opened them for you instead. He would’ve known I was opening them, but pretended as though I wasn’t.

‘That doesn’t work anymore,’ I said about his games. You nodded.

A few nights later, he truly realised we were together again. I know he was trying to mule us apart, though. He sent something that weakened you. You stared at your phone, eyes blurring. You wanted to say, me too. You took a photo…

I shook my head.

‘That would’ve been you on that Saturday night if he meant that.’

You nodded and turned off your phone.

You didn’t press your ear to it until the next night. He knew I was in control, and I could tell when he called that third time, he was expecting to hear me on the phone.

‘I can do this for you,’ I told you.

You answered, ignoring me.

I didn’t know what to expect.

I’d never seen you like that before.

I could tell how surprised he was, hearing these words from you. Not from me, and you telling me to shut up over the top. Purely from you. I’d never seen this girl before. You let loose as though your words finally foamed at your mouth the way my fingers do when they tap these keys. You were so bad at communicating but now…there was no holding back. You finally saw me and finally, so did he.

And when that call ended, not even I could console you of that grief. Every part of you had been ripped apart. I’d usually prod at you, but you…you stabbed yourself with every heartfelt word you sobbed over that phone. The blood drained from you like your tears.

‘You did so good,’ I sobbed with you, trying to fix your wounds. You shooed me away, as though you deserved such self-inflicted pain.

The next morning, you woke up ill.

‘You can stay in bed, if you want,’ I suggested.

‘No,’ you refused. You curled your hair, your painted your face. You pulled on clothes that hugged your body.

‘You look hot,’ I reassured you. ‘I hope he sees you.’

‘No. I don’t. He’d give a fuck about me, otherwise.’

I sat with you in the grey under that tree we like. You frowned over emails. 3 articles due in by tomorrow.

‘You can’t do that by then,’ I told you.

‘Fucking watch,’ you muttered, accepting them all and spending that hour frantically typing.

‘We can go home now, if you want,’ I suggested.

‘No. I want to go to that class I like. I want to hear her stories. They made me happy last week.’

They didn’t, but it didn’t stop you from listening attentively. When you raised your hand, she picked on you. You blushed, unable to form the words that made so much sense in your intelligent mind. You looked like an idiot.

‘That sucked,’ I said after class.

You shrugged, as though accepting that that’s how your life was going to be now.

We went down all the escalators together. I know we were both thinking the same thing.

‘Let’s stay,’ you decided. ‘I don’t want to remotely risk it.’

I was proud of you.

We looked at photos that made us happy, that would look wonderful on the wall to replace the ones that made us feel like shit. We knew that was a good idea. I know you were still terrified of taking those people off the wall.

We looked at the photos we ended up with. There really weren’t many. I know that gutted you as you closed your laptop and looked at the dreary sky.

‘You’re hungry,’ I said.

You shook your head.

‘I’ll live. Let’s walk home.’