My Fifth Letter to my Heartbreaker

Why do I keep writing these letters to you, which you will never read, in such a public place? I could just as easily open up a WordPad and let loose. I'm not really sure, but if I had to guess, it's because I need a place to share my anonymous sorrow; no one in the real world wants anyone to share their heartbreak with them because they are already have their own, and you definitely don't want to hear about it. You're probably feeling the opposite of heartbreak with me out of your life, as it was your decision to sever any bond that we formed over the course of our month of knowing each other.

I'm supposed to be moving past you, but today I sat on my bike in a parking lot and thought about you for twenty minutes. That's ironic, because I reckon that soon you will have forgotten about me entirely, if you haven't already. Knowing the truth of this only adds to my shame, the shame that while I have known and been intimate with many women throughout my life, few would remember me or even truly think fondly of me. Fondly as a friend, fondly as a sexual partner, but never as a potential long-term boyfriend or husband. And it is one of the greatest shames of my life to know that I am responsible for my own sorry state of affairs, as I never seem to learn. That is the true reason why I can't keep women like you, or the one that came before you, or the one that came before her, and so on, and so on.

Like anyone else, I don't know when I'll die. Could be tomorrow, could be fifty years from now. But as I approach middle age, I look around and the signs continue to mount up into an unsettling reality: I may just never be a married man and I may just die childless. As a college-educated journalist who drives sh** for a living (professional failure), what is living my life as a single man anything but the ultimate personal failure as well? Day-to-day survival may be a success within itself for all peoples, but what is life without that which you want most BUT day-to-day survival? It's not happiness, not like the happiness you gave me, and maybe that's why it's so hard to simply move on from you. I think I already told you...happiness is for me is often found in moments, rather than a state of being. That's just the way it is.

In that sense, you're another moment of happiness for me which I hoped could've been a step towards happiness as a state of being. As that will not be the case, my beautiful, brilliant woman, you're just another failure for me. Not so say you're a failure as though one fails at a business, but a failed attempt achieving true happiness. My attempts at being loved and respected by you have failed, my desire to make you as happy as you made me mean nothing. You can only now exist as two memories: one, where we made each other briefly happy, and two, where we made each other unhappy. Both memories will have equal power for me, with the former memory having the devastating effect of knowing that I ultimately failed you. Through my behavior, apparently, I made you want to leave. In my despair, if I was to ever contact you (which I won't, by your own wishes), I would almost beg you to forgive me. I would give you anything to make that happen...even though in a material sense, I have nothing left to give but my love and respect, which I feel as though I gave to you all along.