It's been so long and I still haven't managed to write to you. It's not that I haven't tried, there are several meandering beginnings to letters I've still got. And there have been a shredded few that didn't survive the writing process. Lately whenever I hold a pen and put my thoughts on paper they end up a mess of stream-of-consciousness gabble with little resemblance to what I want to say or how I feel about you.
Several times I've picked up the phone and almost called you. But I don't know if you want to hear from me any more. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, and it makes my stomach churn to think how you might feel. I'm so sorry. But I'm not sorry I met you - or that I fell in love with you. I'm not sorry for all the things we've shared, the intimacy we've had. I wish I could be more for you, I wish I was a better friend to you - and I will be if you ever let me in again.
Most of all I wish I could love you more. Like you deserve to be loved. Like you loved me.
You are one of the most remarkable people I've ever met, I count myself so lucky to have had the time you've given me. You push yourself and grow and change and improve all the time, I wish I had a fraction of your energy or your creativity. You have a strength of spirit and character I aspire to: you've lent me that strength at dark times in my life and I am eternally grateful for that.
It's selfish of me to say but I've discovered just how much I need you since you've not been around. I don't feel I've ever managed to explain to you how important you are. I've needed your strength and love so much lately while knowing I have no right to it. I've felt like I'm having to learn how to walk on my own. And I'm staggering.
I don't know if you'll read this. I don't know if I want you to. I will write to you soon and hopefully make more sense. But I don't know if I can ever make it right.
I miss you. I'm sorry. And I love you.