Aria,
I always seem to be wrong, don't I?
I had our whole lives planned out. Our house, how many children we would have, but this would, of course, not be exact.
You always get the final say.
But you were torn away from me.
I was wrong to plan out our future, it just made everything worse. Now I get to look at the document I made and cry over it.
You don't know how much this hurt me.
Although you would disagree, I think it's worse to live in the aftermath. You were always the type of girl who would die for love. You never wanted to live without me.
And now look what happened.
Sometimes I think you were right. That living without you is worse than death. Because that's exactly what happened.
My psychiatrist keeps insisting I admit to myself what happened in April, and I was never ready. I could never say what happened out loud. But I'm ready now.
You died on April 23.
And now I can't get you back. You're gone for good and I'm not sure who is to blame anymore. You're gone from my life and I can't do anything about it.
Love,
Atlas