Mary,

I’ve decided that I’m going to leave. Before you think anything of me, I want you to know that you didn’t do anything wrong. I know you’ll still think that, but know that it’s not true. Have you ever had this feeling in your gut that something was… off? Like you were so close to the right thing but you couldn’t quite get to it? It’s like what Sam said the other day: “When you know it’s right, that’s when it clicks.” I’m still trying to figure out what that feels like.

I have thought about this letter for a long time, unsure of how to start it or what to say-trying not to do the shameless “It’s not you, it’s me.”. I know you don’t deserve that. Instead, I wanted to celebrate what we have. The spontaneous adventures in the woods, the art projects we would buy from Michaels, the dancing we would do in the shower together. This tapestry was woven out of truth, out of life, out of love. I will never forget what this feels like. Not in a million years. Everything about you is beautiful, and what we had is something out of the corniest and sappiest of rom coms. It’s what I always dreamed it would feel like.

I saw you the other day, brushing your hair, and I couldn’t help but feel… alone. It was like I was watching somebody else’s life through my own eyes. We know each other deeply, more deeply than I have ever known anybody, but somebody else gets to have you forever. That person will cherish you and go to the very end of the world just to see you smile. It was the first time that I had ever felt like that person wasn’t me. 

I won’t ask that you remember me. I’m not that selfish. Instead, I’ll ask you to live saccharine with your hands to the sky, grabbing every opportunity you can find. Run like hell through a field of flowers and feel the leaves against your skin, hugging every crevice as you dart past. Keep running until you find it. Keep running until it clicks.