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  • Many times, whether in a blank word document or a page in my journal, I began to write him a letter. Over and over, I spelled out his name and the emotions he forced upon me. It always seemed silly and obsessive. His thoughts of me were likely sporadic and fleeting, like a summer rain storm, but I needed my greatest words to get to him and all of these thoughts that I couldn't stop.

    The letters were never finished because the lesson I needed - to move on - would come and I'd drop my pen and try to occupy my mind in other ways. It's OK, I thought, I never intended to send these.

    There was so much that went unsaid. I went mad wondering what he thought of me and I could never actually ask him because, to do so, would make me seem mad. So, I pretended that his occasional short messages were fulfilling while pretending he did have feelings for me.

    It took awhile for me to recognize the truth and accept it for what it is. When I did it was time to call him and verbalize, finally, all those things that we never talked about. How much he meant to me, how I wanted it to be something that we both knew it never could be because our lives weren't aligned that way, how he can't ignore me for days and then pop in with an "I love you." The courage to make this call came in church and when I was ready he never picked up. He didn't acknowledge that I attempted to reach him.

    So I vowed to write one more letter, stating all those things my soul absolutely needed to say, but it didn't seem worth it. Two paragraphs in, the gentle whisper came, as it always does.

    I closed the document and shut my computer.

    I still check for his messages although I never reply and have no intention of doing so.

    The letters I never sent had the answers as to why but not all situations need answers.
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