You always were going to come back, weren't you?

I sat in the living room, just sitting there, staring out the window. In my hands was a mug of black tea- your favorite. Always with just a little bit of sugar, the way you liked it. I remember that if it was too sweet you would just chuckle and roll your eyes endearingly at me, but never asked me to make another.

Every day I sat on my wooden stool by the window, simply staring into oblivion, always imagining. Imagining your soft arms around my shoulders, your hand in my hand, your chin pressing against the top of my head.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still feel your warmth.

You never wrote. Not one letter. I checked the mailbox by the dark wooden door every afternoon, hoping, wishing, praying to see an envelope. Just one. I waited to see the address and the number of our modest apartment scrawled out in a fine black pen. I waited for a colorful stamp in the top right corner, maybe two, telling me where you are. I most looked forward to your handwriting. It would look like little spiders, especially on the post-it-notes you would leave for me around the flat.

Remember to get milk at the store.

Good luck with your meeting today!

Good night.

~:~

I didn't cry when they came to tell me. I guess it was too much of a shock for me to process. But when I was left staring at that door with nothing else left to live for, all of my hopes and dreams slipped away like raindrops down my windshield. How was this even possible? I asked myself.

I cried then.

I drove to the cinema to try and forget and not have to deal with the truth. My tears stained my black jeans all the way there.

The film was terrible. But it might've just been the fact that you were gone.

~:~

You always were going to come back, weren't you?

I guess I can stop waiting now.

~:~

I found them three weeks later. Rather, they appeared on the doorstep in a pile. On the top was a tan piece of paper covered in the small, professional black font that I never had wanted to see. My hands shook. I couldn't form any words. I saw your handwriting, gingerly pressed against the front of countless envelopes. In my hurry to pick them up and drown my tears in every word, I didn't notice one slip under the crack in the wall.

~:~

June 5

Hello.

I'm already missing you like crazy, and today is only my first day away. Hopefully these six months will go by quickly, so I can see you again.

- P

June 6

Hey.

Still missing you. How are you doing? I imagine your smiling face whenever I feel down, and your Winnie-the-Pooh voice never fails to brighten my mood.

Till I see you again.

- P

June 7

Hey Bear.

I know you hate that nickname, but it's just so cute I can't help myself. Don't worry about me, okay?

- P

~:~

Every day. You wrote to me every single day. I want to savor these words forever and ever. You will never know how much these mean to me. How much you mean to me.

They're all here. Four long months of letters to me from you. It hurts that this is all that's left of you now- words and memories.

If only there had been more time for a stolen kiss and the most important three words I could ever say to you.

~:~

Your funeral was today. I cried when I read the eulogy I wrote to you. I know you can't hear me, but I was talking to you.

Everyone was broken up, but I was the worst by far. Even your brother in his ironed black suit stayed collected. The air smelled of lilies. I never knew why they always have lilies at funerals. You would've preferred roses. It made me sad to think that the one flower you most loved wasn't even there. That is what roses symbolize, after all. Love. The thing you did most in this world.

Love.

I had to leave after thinking that.

~:~

I found it.

Just lying there.

The last one. It crunched under my shoe when I came home.

I'm scared to open it up. I'm scared to read it.

~:~

September 10

I love you.