6 months after
Dear James,
When I was little, and saw a butterfly, I used to think about loving someone. It’s funny really, because a butterfly summaries what it was like to love you, perfectly. A butterfly is beautiful, and James, loving you was the most beautiful thing I had ever experienced; you made a pale face glow brighter than a star in the night sky. A butterfly is delicate, and James, loving you was the most delicate process I have ever survived through; so easy to break, yet kept in a place untouchable to anyone but us. A butterfly, most importantly, is a transformation, and James, loving you transformed me; I want you to know that.
I started writing this letter hoping to release the anger inside, but as soon as I scrawled your name across the top of this page, I realised it wasn’t anger I was feeling. It was disappointment. I’m not angry with you for choosing not to love me as much as your career, but I’m disappointed that you chose to humiliate me when you knew what I’d been through, when you knew you were the only one I ever trusted. I’m not angry with you for breaking my heart, but I’m disappointed that the pieces are shattered, so much so that I don’t know if they’ll ever fit back together again. I’m not angry James, I’m not.
So instead, I’m writing to tell you that I loved you. And in some ways, I still do. Whether that makes me stupid or not, I guess we’ll never know.
Good luck James, I hope that it was worth it.
Clary.
