Dear Mercedes,
I'm not ready after all. Not just yet.
Remember that night by the lake when you asked me to meet you - the first night after I told you I was leaving? I never told you this but when I got there I sat and watched you for the longest time. I saw more in you in that moment than I had in the last year. The night was cool and you'd crossed your arms across your chest, rubbing gently to keep yourself warm. Your bangs had grown past your eyes and you had a habit of crinkling your nose just before brushing them to the side. Even from behind, I could see that crinkle in my mind and it lifted the corners of my mouth.
I remember just watching you for what felt like the longest time, but it was all I could stand to be away from you. I could tell you were sad, see it in your posture. You looked...defeated. I wanted to kiss you, to hold you and to tell you that everything would be alright, that I wasn't going anywhere and that I would never hurt you by leaving you. But I couldn't. All I could do was walk over to you and lift your face, the heartbreak in your eyes piercing my skin, while I held you against me.
We sat in silence for the next hour, pressed against one another in the spot that we'd spent so much time in. Later you told me that you wished you could capture every last moment we had together in your mind forever, and I smiled a sad smile.
You see, I feel in love with you long before that night, but it was that night when I realised just how deeply it was buried.
And now I can't just turn it off.
If there was ever a letter I wanted you to see, it was this one. But the thought of you, and the heartbreak in your eyes...I could never do that to you. Not again.
So I'm sorry, my love, but I will stop writing you when I'm ready. And I'm just not ready. Not yet.
All my heart,
Sam