Letter To Henry
Dear Henry,
I don't think you'll ever read this letter. For one thing, you're "on open waters in the middle of the Caribbean Sea" when I'm writing this -- at least, as far as I know that's where you are. I don't think 41 cents will get this there. And for another, this isn't the kind of letter you write ever meaning to send it. And maybe that's not really fair, I'm not sure.
But the thing is, there are things I really need to tell you, and I can't think of any other way to. And I've tried to wait, because this does feel a lot like cheating, somehow, but I just can't. Not any more. There's just too much going on right now, and I have too many things to deal with, and something had to give.
And it was this. It was us. And a part of me is really, really, really sorry. And a part of me is kind of relieved.
(That's another reason you'll never actually get to read this letter.)
It's just, if I let go now, I think we have a chance of coming out of all this still friends. And I'd really like that. And the longer we let this go, the harder that gets, the worse the ending gets, the more likely it is we just wind up hurt and angry and all.
When and if you make it back -- because I don't really have any guarantee that you will -- when that happens, I'm pretty sure we have a lot to talk about. But I couldn't wait for that, to tell you this.
I love you. I think a part of me probably always will. But I can't do this any more. It's time to
God, there's just no way to finish that sentence that isn't a cliche.
I'll leave it at this, then.
It's time.
Good-bye.
Love,
Hannah