Page 234 of Fractured Devotion
Not with longing.
Not with regret.
But with unquantified respect.
She chose her freedom.
I chose mine.
But some ties never sever completely.
I reach into my coat, pulling out the small, folded letter I’ve carried for weeks now.
Her name is on the front.
It’s written in my own hand.
I could send it.
I could burn it.
But instead, I slip it back inside my coat.
Some words are meant only for the one carrying them.
And this one stays with me.
For now.
Night thickens around me as I lean against the old stone wall by the docks, watching the water lap against the edges.
The letter feels heavier now, the paper worn soft from my fingertips tracing over it again and again.
I think about what I wrote in it.
I never begged.
I never asked for forgiveness.
I just told her the truth.
I told her that leaving her wasn’t me running away. That it was letting her breathe without my shadow pressing close.
That she saved me in ways she’d never fully understand.
That I loved her, still do, and probably always will.
I meant every word.
But words on paper are easy.
It’s the sending that costs.
I glance over my shoulder, spotting the narrow alley where I know the runners pass through each night.
One letter, one name, one destination.
I can send it.
