Letters I'll Never Write

I'll never write this letter to you.

You still hold a piece of my heart, and there is nothing either of us can do about it.

You, with whom I fell in love in the rain when it felt like you saved me, and it was as though I couldn't help it, the rain a catalyst. My friends a barrier, something that could not be moved or avoided. Then finally, days later, they were no longer a barrier. It was a short while before you came to love me, for I have to believe that you did, or part of you, or that last part of my heart that cares for you will break like the rest did when I found out you loved her too.

And you, who I'm not sure ever did love me. I think perhaps, though I cannot be sure, that I have for the most part stopped loving you, and this possibility, that you never loved me, may be the cause of that. I am fine with this, for the most part. I think you only thought you loved me, because I cared for you and you knew it. We did enjoy one another's company, some times, and that is the important thing, though you would have preferred we were not together.

And, finally, you, who I still love with everything that I am, though we don't see each other enough for me to show you. You I could never stop loving, the other part of me, making me whole, you that grounds me and always has. The sun brought us together when she and he gave us up to us, never realising what they were missing and what they were creating. I am grateful for this.

Lastly, you, my future, our future. I hope there is a you, with hearts on fire and arms open wide. I'm sure there will be a you, because I love you already.