This is a prompt from the Line By Line community on LiveJournal.
The letter came today. I kind of thought it would. There wasn’t much to it, a few lines with a smattering of guilt and remnants of affection. I read it while trying to hold back tears, my eyes skipping down the page. I don’t understand the words, the scant paragraphs of ridiculous ramblings, but I can tell you what he didn’t say:
He didn’t say I love you, and I’ll never stop.
He didn’t say I miss you, and I always will.
He didn’t say why he walked away, disappeared, fell off the edge of the planet, made me feel crazy for having memories of him or why he evaporated into thin air, as if he never existed.
He didn’t say I shouldn’t have let you think there was something there, when it–we–were an empty space. A placeholder. Filler.
He didn’t say he wasted my time. Or used my heart and then wrung it out to dry and left it hanging, nonchalant and forlorn on some haphazard forgotten shelf in his life.
Most of all, he didn’t say he was coming back.
And that is the part that makes me most sad.