How can I even begin a letter like this given all I've done? I've been going through in my head trying to string together the right words to poetically illustrate what I'm about to say, but there are none. There are simply four - I want us back.
I don't deserve you, I don't think I ever will again, but I want to spend every day trying to. Trying to be your goddess again - the girl you fell in love with at the beach. The one you came back for.
How did I come to this conclusion after so much time has passed? After all the lifelines you gave me?
I couldn't call the lawyer. My fingers wouldn't dial the number.
I've been burying the realities of what I've done with drinking and smoking.
The one place I can do neither of those things is work.
I'm overcome with loss and sadness at frequent and unpredictable times. I would jump up from my desk and go to the bathroom to cry and silent scream at what I've done. What I've shattered.
I would see your face, your eyes, sometimes a happy memory: Sitting in the sand in [HONEYMOON], becoming hypnotized by the waves lapping close to my feet and turning around to see your slow, casual gait - you coming towards me, your eyes switching between looking in mine and looking down. Our smiles synchronized. Such an effortless time. Just you and I and nothing else. Nothing to worry about as long as we were always coming toward each other.
Or I'd picture watching you play with [DOG]. I would see your hair flop over your face despite your headband. See your eyes look at me, know what you felt for me in that moment. Hear you laugh. Hear [DOG]'s panting laugh.
Always a memory where I would think in that moment, "this is where I belong."
But then I would clean myself up, bury those memories, and go back to my desk.
Sometimes I imagine where we'd be in a given moment, in the universe where I didn't do this to us. I picture us snuggling next to each other on my parents' couch while football played on Thanksgiving or decorating our apartment with little Christmasy nick nacks. I imagine us eating and [GAMING AT PLACE]. Feeling the glide of my bicycle as I trailed behind you. Even painting together and writing together. Because like you said, we could have been better than we were before.
This wonderful little universe I started to construct.
Finally, I couldn't bury it anymore. I started reading how to deal with this when I was the person who murdered it in the first place.
Nothing helped, until I read one line, which seemed irrelevant, given what I've already done. It said, "Who do you picture growing old with?"
And instinctively, I answered, "[MY NAME]."
And it all hit me at once. All the drawers in my mind that I locked away, flew open. All our memories. All our dreams. Everything we were going to accomplish together. It was you. The answer is always you.
Once that came back together, I couldn't stop crying. I felt what you've been feeling. Unable to bury the memories - a continuous flood of what was, what is now and what I hope could still be.
I was supposed to be the mother of our children. I picture a boy and girl, with green eyes and brown hair, your lips, your humor, your courage. I pictured them, and they faded. I went to one of those baby generator websites where you put in both of our pictures and they show you what your children look like. I saved it in my email. They're beautiful.
But they only exist in an alternate universe. The one we should be living in now were it not for me.
You begged me and begged me and begged me. Why couldn't I listen then?
When you were deployed, all I kept thinking in my mind was the line from [BOOK], [ROMANTIC QUOTE]
And now, all I can think of is how I destroyed that [THING]. It's like in the movie [MOVIE]. He wakes up, remembers where he belongs and comes back. But when he comes back, the flower has frozen to death. He never should have left.
I never should have left. I should have talked to you. I should have tried. I should have cherished you - us, our memories, our future, our future children and their families.
But I was too cold, too closed off, too focused on everything but us. You were right when you said you know me better than I know myself.
I keep hearing your voice saying you wish we'd have never come here.
I wish that too.
The drawers in my mind are open. I know what I have to do.
If there is even a shred of possibility, I need to come home to you. I need to fix my disaster and spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you.
I have no right to ask this of you, but I have to.
If you let me come back I will get another job. We can move to anywhere you want. I don't care. Whatever you want. Whatever gets me back to you, I will do.
It doesn't matter, as long as we're together again.
But most of all, I'll go to AA. I know I can't come back unless I take that step.
The Scientist has been on replay in my mind.
I want to be the person you love again. I want to go back to The Start.
Is there still a world where we can be together again or have I destroyed it completely?
I love you, how could I have ever believed that that was not true?
There's no I in remorse; and definitely not 75 of them. Your wife seems regretful, but is totally centered on herself rather than you.