So I stood there, with the water flowing over me as my nervously picked down nails attempted to claw into my skin while listening to an inversion of a conversation I wish I could only have had with you. I’d held it all back for far too long; its been one month after you walked out that door, one month since I went looking for you, knowing that in the back of my mind the reality of the situation couldn’t ever have been possible because you weren’t that. You weren’t that person who walked out the door and decided to never come back, that’s not you. But whoever that person was, they took something from us that we can never get back, and I’d give everything for just one more day. One more day to tell you what I wish I could have told you in that letter, one more day to tell you that I would have given up everything for you to stay with us.
I’m still wishing you’d come home, and there’s part of me that’s still waiting for you to walk back in through that door.