the Sum of it all

14

Dear Oliver,

You know, I've never been brave enough to put up a fight. Back in Grade 5, I won regionals in tennis and came so close to nationals. But the next year, I lost at the Provincial meet—a stage I had conquered before—and I never played tennis again. I gave up, just like that. Not because I couldn't do better, but because the failure stung too much. There was no reclaiming, no comeback, no "one more try." I left it all behind without regrets, without wondering "what if." At least, that's what I told myself. But now, looking back, I realize I might have been wrong. And you, of all people, are the reason I see it differently.

You made me understand the importance of not giving up, of fighting even when the battle feels endless and exhausting. You've shown me what it means to believe in the "what could have been." And now, I'm full of regrets—not just for leaving tennis behind, but for all the things I never gave myself a chance to reclaim. I had potential; I was recognized by mayors, applauded by people who saw my worth before I did. But somehow, walking away from that path led me to you. Maybe it worked out for the better in the grand scheme of things, but it's hard not to wonder.

You've taught me the value of standing my ground and proving my worth, of holding on even when it's easier to let go. And that's why I'm writing these letters. Do you think I pour my heart out like this for no reason? No, this is my way of fighting back against the silence you've left behind. You're leaving—without a word, without an explanation—and I'm retaliating the only way I know how. Even if you never answer, even if these words never reach you, I'll keep writing. I'll keep letting the wind carry these letters in hopes that one day, they'll find their way to your ears. Because for the first time, I'm not giving up. Not on this, not on you, not on us.

With love,
Mori