What she would never read...

Crumpled on his desk at home lay the other half of the note. He kept it. Just in case.



And I am so sorry you know. I can't be that man you want or need, or even the one you deserve. You don't see this, but I can - every time you look at me with those "I accept you as you are" eyes that makes me die a little inside every time you smile.

And I am sorry that I can't make that mean forever and ever and the stuff that dreams are made of. I really want to. I want to promise you that it'll be good and that we'll be happy.
But if you know me by now, you know,....damn you really know....I break all my promises.

I hate me.
I hate myself for being this person who can't live up and who can't let go.
But I'm working on it.

And I will keep trying.

The truth is, you are my someone. Through this guise of broken down habitual failure and despairing fear of anything beautiful or good in this world, I'm still in love with you.
You haunt me and take me to places in my mind that I've never viewed through this lens before.
When I'm sober, your face, your influence, makes me hope.

I have never had this before in my short life.
And though it hurts - God all the time it hurts - I still want that.

With you.

Please forgive me.
This part of me that can keep moving forward, the part that still thinks there's a crucible out there with my name on it, is hopefully and hopelessly in love with you.

Take me back.
I promise to try. I promise to be a better version of me.
Because I not only want that for you, but for myself.

Find me again.

Me.