It's eleven pages, hand written on a yellow writing pad. It's filled with hindsight, self-recrimination, apologies, hope for a second chance, and the love that I still hold for you. I don't expect you'll ever see it, but that was never really the point of writing it.
It seems unlikely I'll ever get the chance to say what I want to you in person, or if I did that it would really make any difference. The letter, and this blog post, are really just my attempt at some sort of closure on a wound that refuses to heal.
I think I've managed to mostly behave myself thus far, excluding the occasional self-indulgent poem or two, so I hope you'll forgive this final post on the matter.
I love you.
I miss you.
And I hope someday I'll become the man that you deserve.
Goodbye.
