Letter to Patrick

I still miss you. It's as simple as that. I wish I could hear from you, just to know you're ok and you care. But that's the thing isn't it? You don't care, not for me, anymore. I'm sorry for the things I said. I wish I hadn't said them, I wish I could tear it all into pieces so I could have you back, so I could hold you, so I could tell you I love you and have you say the same. But I can't. You've made up your mind and now I'll never see you again. I love you, I still love you, why doesn't that matter anymore? When things were at their worst between us, when I was hurt and cut and bruised by you, you loved me and that was enough, that made it all go away. I want to wake up in your arms and hear you breathing. I want to lie on your chest and listen to your heartbeat. I want you to touch me, I remember you so well. Your face, your body, it's all stored in my fingertips. I miss having your smell on my hair and clothes. I miss kissing you, and holding your hand. I've cried so many tears over you, you'd think I'd learn to let you go but I can't seem to. I should learn that I can't have you back, that I can't email you anymore, that getting sentimental over how you used to touch me is only going to hurt me more. I miss you. With love, still,
xxx