It’s been two years.
I admit, there are times (mostly at night) (mostly when I’m lonely) when you would sneakily slither into my thoughts. And just rest there, leaving me bothered with multiple what-ifs, what-could-have-beens, what-would-I-redo.
Each time my fingers creep closer to my phone. If I can just be courageous enough to find your number, buried underneath all the happenings of the two years, I would send you a message. Because more than my silly hopeful heart, I am burdened with guilt.
So badly, I want to tell you that I am sorry.
If not for me, none of this mess would happen.
That it was partially my fault for allowing this to balloon into something that was unmanageable for the both of us.
Don’t be mistaken. This apology is mostly for me to clear my conscience because I am sure, this has not affected you the way it did for me. And that’s okay.
Your number is no longer on my phone.