I finally listened to your new album today. I thought it would be too painful. It was. I miss your voice; hearing you practice in the next room, listening to you humming softly to yourself as you washed dishes. I would come up behind you, wrap my arms around you, inhale your scent, and push your hair aside to plant a soft kiss on the back of your neck. You would always pull your hands out of the sink, playfully flicking droplets of water at me. I would scrunch up my nose at you, and you would smile innocently at me. God, that smile. You could light up a whole room with that smile. Hell, you lit up my whole world with that smile.
I miss sleeping next to you. The bed is cold and empty now. I have to sleep with the TV on, because it keeps the loneliness at bay; just for a while. But of course, you come back to me in my dreams. I can't escape it. Waking up is painful. Coming out of the bedroom and not hearing the shower running is painful. Eating breakfast at the kitchen table alone is painful. It rips my heart out not seeing you across from me, your curly hair softly framing your face, still damp from the shower. Coming home from work to a silent apartment is a special kind of hell. You used to greet me every night with the biggest grin. It was as if you had seen me for the first time in a year, but it had only been nine hours. You would wrap me up in your arms, pepper my face with kisses, and lovingly take my coat and bag from my shoulders, hanging them up by the door for me. You looked at me with such love.
You did, until I fucked it all up. Things got bad. I got bad again. My bipolar got worse; it took over my life. You tried to be there for me. You were so wonderful. I was so pathetic. I treated you badly. You would take my hands in yours and tell me that you loved me. I would swear at you and call you names. I was swinging rapidly between manic and depressive states. Some days, I couldn't get out of bed. You took care of me. You made me breakfast before you left for the day. Some days, you would come home and the apartment would be spotless. I would go into a manic state and clean everything before I lost that energy again. But I was mean. I didn't deserve you.
You begged me to go back to therapy; to get back on my medication. I got offended. You told me it was because you cared, but I didn't listen. I kicked you out that night. I instantly regretted it, but I was afraid to contact you. I was scared of rejection. "He wouldn't take me back after all of that," I told myself. I convinced myself that you hated me. I let you leave. We didn't talk after that. You came back while I was at work and you packed up your things and left. I cried when I came home and found your key on the kitchen counter. You took all of your belongings, except for one. You left your favorite hoodie on the hook by the door. You knew I loved to wear it. It was warm and cozy and it smelled like you.
Not a day has gone by where I don't think of you. I have wanted to contact you so badly. To apologize. To ask for you to come home. I've been so afraid to do this. I've been going to therapy every week, Danny. I talk about you, mostly. But I feel healthier now. I take my medication every morning and every night. I think about you; how happy you would have been to see me taking care of myself.
I don't expect you to respond to this. I wouldn't either if I were you. I'm going to send this to the Game Grumps office because I don't know where you live now. After this, I'll leave you alone. I'll settle on writing in my journal instead of bothering you. I just had to tell you that I'm sorry. I love you. I love you so much, Dan, but I know I have to let you go. I thought that this pain would have subsided by now, but it gets harder every day to shake the thoughts of you from my head. But I want you to be happy, even though that means me not being in the picture. I won't ever love anyone like I love you. I don't deserve you. I never did, but you made me feel so loved. Thank you for everything, Danny. I'll always love you.