(no subject)
Hey, querido. (I know I've lost all rights to call you that. But still, it's a name I only used for you, and it always will be, so.)
It's been about eleven years since we last spoke. A few years less than that since I last saw you, back at Daniel and Mary's wedding. So why am I suddenly writing to you? And on a site I haven't updated in years, no less?
Honestly, I'm thinking that you most likely won't see this. In which case, it speaks to my sense of nostalgia to be able to write to you in a way where you might see it, but probably won't. I'm taking a risk, but it's a small risk.
But beyond that...well, I've been thinking about writing to you for a long time. I don't really know how you're doing these days, what you're up to. I've heard a few things here and there over the years, but most of my friendships from that group have grown pretty distant (the ones that weren't severed eleven years ago, that is). But for several years I've thought repeatedly about trying to write to you, and I guess I'm just...finally doing it.
So. Here's the thing. I did an awful thing, cheating on you. I hurt you in a terrible way. (Believe it or not, I've done worse since. It seems the main way I learn something is by doing it the wrong way first.) And I understand that our relationship, much like a poem, will always be defined by the way it ended. So first things first: I am still truly, incredibly sorry for what I did to you. For the damage I did. Eleven years of thinking about it has given me some insight into the rhyme and reason of why I did it, but I don't think this is the letter for that. This letter has a different purpose--two purposes, actually, and the first of these is to apologize, with no expectation of anything from you in return. I don't expect forgiveness, I don't even expect a response. I just want to offer you my most sincere and deepest apologies, for whatever that may be worth to you.
As for the second purpose (the main purpose, honestly), I want you to know that you were...
Well. Basically, you were perfect. You were the best boyfriend someone like me could dream of. And if you ever doubt that I loved you, think again. I loved you with a depth and ferocity that has gone unmatched in my life since. I fell in love with you carelessly, in the sense that I did not take care to try to protect myself from any damage that might have occurred from falling for you. I fell in love with you in the most unguarded way imaginable...and by god, you were incredible. The beauty in you. Even now, the memory of it.
Of course, things have changed over the years. I've learned to be more careful, to be more guarded. I've learned how to be a better partner (still not perfect, or even all that great sometimes, but I try). But our relationship--you, Timothy Daniel McCabe, with your intense creativity, your innate playfulness, your ability to jump in and help without a moment's thought or hesitation...
I keep staring at the screen, trying to pin down the words to explain what you meant to me. What you still mean to me, the ways that you shaped me. But I don't want you to think that it's only about how you changed me or affected me. It's just...you were so goddamn beautiful, Tim. You just were. I'm guessing you still are. And I can't even tell you how grateful I am that I got to see that.
I guess that's why I'm writing this letter, which has been slowly trying to shape itself in my brain for the past several years. I fucked it all up at the end, I know. And I'm not writing this in an attempt to rebuild a relationship with you, romantic or platonic or otherwise. I just...I had to tell you, I had to thank you, for being the person I fell so insanely hard for. (I remember Jocey being really worried about me when you and I first met, and she kept hearing me talk about you, and she kept seeing how I was getting so lost in everything. She described me as a car without brakes, going down a winding road, full speed, in the dark, without headlights. I still maintain it was the best decision I ever made.)
So, here it is, finally formed: thank you. Thank you for...well, for everything. I want you to have all the best of everything good and wonderful in the world, including those really sugary cookies they sell at the grocery store and the death-by-chocolate cake you used to get at Costco. I'm always going to love you. (Unless you do something like commit genocide. And even then.) You are always going to matter to me, down to my bones.
I don't have a good way to end this letter, so I guess I'll just put it out there. Maybe you'll see it; probably not. Even if you never do, though, it doesn't change anything I've written, or anything about how I feel. That's just the way it is. And I can't thank you enough.
Take it easy, Tim.
Love,
Kim
It's been about eleven years since we last spoke. A few years less than that since I last saw you, back at Daniel and Mary's wedding. So why am I suddenly writing to you? And on a site I haven't updated in years, no less?
Honestly, I'm thinking that you most likely won't see this. In which case, it speaks to my sense of nostalgia to be able to write to you in a way where you might see it, but probably won't. I'm taking a risk, but it's a small risk.
But beyond that...well, I've been thinking about writing to you for a long time. I don't really know how you're doing these days, what you're up to. I've heard a few things here and there over the years, but most of my friendships from that group have grown pretty distant (the ones that weren't severed eleven years ago, that is). But for several years I've thought repeatedly about trying to write to you, and I guess I'm just...finally doing it.
So. Here's the thing. I did an awful thing, cheating on you. I hurt you in a terrible way. (Believe it or not, I've done worse since. It seems the main way I learn something is by doing it the wrong way first.) And I understand that our relationship, much like a poem, will always be defined by the way it ended. So first things first: I am still truly, incredibly sorry for what I did to you. For the damage I did. Eleven years of thinking about it has given me some insight into the rhyme and reason of why I did it, but I don't think this is the letter for that. This letter has a different purpose--two purposes, actually, and the first of these is to apologize, with no expectation of anything from you in return. I don't expect forgiveness, I don't even expect a response. I just want to offer you my most sincere and deepest apologies, for whatever that may be worth to you.
As for the second purpose (the main purpose, honestly), I want you to know that you were...
Well. Basically, you were perfect. You were the best boyfriend someone like me could dream of. And if you ever doubt that I loved you, think again. I loved you with a depth and ferocity that has gone unmatched in my life since. I fell in love with you carelessly, in the sense that I did not take care to try to protect myself from any damage that might have occurred from falling for you. I fell in love with you in the most unguarded way imaginable...and by god, you were incredible. The beauty in you. Even now, the memory of it.
Of course, things have changed over the years. I've learned to be more careful, to be more guarded. I've learned how to be a better partner (still not perfect, or even all that great sometimes, but I try). But our relationship--you, Timothy Daniel McCabe, with your intense creativity, your innate playfulness, your ability to jump in and help without a moment's thought or hesitation...
I keep staring at the screen, trying to pin down the words to explain what you meant to me. What you still mean to me, the ways that you shaped me. But I don't want you to think that it's only about how you changed me or affected me. It's just...you were so goddamn beautiful, Tim. You just were. I'm guessing you still are. And I can't even tell you how grateful I am that I got to see that.
I guess that's why I'm writing this letter, which has been slowly trying to shape itself in my brain for the past several years. I fucked it all up at the end, I know. And I'm not writing this in an attempt to rebuild a relationship with you, romantic or platonic or otherwise. I just...I had to tell you, I had to thank you, for being the person I fell so insanely hard for. (I remember Jocey being really worried about me when you and I first met, and she kept hearing me talk about you, and she kept seeing how I was getting so lost in everything. She described me as a car without brakes, going down a winding road, full speed, in the dark, without headlights. I still maintain it was the best decision I ever made.)
So, here it is, finally formed: thank you. Thank you for...well, for everything. I want you to have all the best of everything good and wonderful in the world, including those really sugary cookies they sell at the grocery store and the death-by-chocolate cake you used to get at Costco. I'm always going to love you. (Unless you do something like commit genocide. And even then.) You are always going to matter to me, down to my bones.
I don't have a good way to end this letter, so I guess I'll just put it out there. Maybe you'll see it; probably not. Even if you never do, though, it doesn't change anything I've written, or anything about how I feel. That's just the way it is. And I can't thank you enough.
Take it easy, Tim.
Love,
Kim