I'm afraid to read your letter

I'm afraid to read your letter because it'll just bring back all of those good memories that aren't there anymore. Your letter is in the top drawer of my dresser with the frosted glass. You know, the one I bought from IKEA and sent a picture to you after I finished putting it together. I remember you told me I did a great job and you really liked the color of my walls. But you never got to see the color close up nor did you get to see the drawers, or me for that matter.

I'm afraid to read your letter because it'll just show me the promises and hope that was easily taken away from me. Just as easy as it was for you to write that letter. I'm sorry for saying that and I'm sorry if it comes off as harsh. But I think you and I were so keen on telling each other the truth; what I hope was the truth and still is the truth. It's really hard for you to think about that stuff right now. You're trying, which is good.

I'm afraid to read your letter because it'll take me back to that place. That emotional, loving, vulnerable place. And although I do still keep you in my heart and there hasn't gone a day without me thinking about you, I refuse to revisit that letter and read what you wrote. It'll break my heart. It'll turn my pretty decent day into an anxiety-ridden night of tossing and turning and downright missing you. I miss you, you know that? No surprise there, you'll say.

I'm afraid to read your letter because I'll cry. I mean, I've been crying if that's what will make you feel better - just knowing that I'm a completely shattered person and putting myself together is like a blind man looking for his glasses in a large open space with only white noise in the background. I still go out and have fun with my friends but your in my head still. You're untouchable and I can't do much about that. Part of me wants to keep you there just in case you want to come back and show me those promises up close and personal.

I have no more eggs because I placed them all in this mysterious basket that I just can't seem to remember where I placed. There's no point of searching for it either. I'll remember with time. As Sanctus Real sang, "Sometimes the truth ain't easy to find...But I'm learning that these things take time."

I saved your voicemails too. I listened to them not too long ago. Although hearing your voice was refreshing, those words you wrote me this past summer are things you wouldn't normally share over the phone. Amazing, heartfelt words. I just can't read them right now. I'm still that blind man looking for his glasses in a large open space with only white noise in the background.