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Dear Tobin,
I don't know why I'm writing this because I know that you'll never read it. Today, October 18th, is our two year anniversary, and I felt obligated to write a letter to you. You adore cheesy things like anniversaries and I'm not against them, I just have to say that I'd rather spend countless years with you than twenty-five years, four months, and thirteen days. It sounds too official.
Actually, it isn't our two year anniversary. It would be, hypothetically, but it isn't. If you didn't leave me six months and seventeen days ago, then it would be. We'd be celebrating and doing everything that you like doing. Now, I shouldn't dwell on things like that and if you were to walk up on me right this second, you'd tell me I'm cheesier than you. I have always been a hopeless romantic, I just can't apologize for it. I do like the idea of finding somebody to be with you forever and I wish that you were the one.
But, I'm getting to the point where I have stopped thinking about you! That's a good thing. Maybe I haven't completely stopped thinking about you, but I'm going to get there eventually. I don't stay in bed all day hoping you'd burst through the door and tell me that you forgive me or whatever anymore. I'm past that point, so I would think that I'm doing okay.
I've even been seeing this guy (shocking, I know). Kelley and Ali and everybody tells me that it's a good thing that I'm doing it. His name is Servando and he plays soccer like you and I think he's really nice. We watch movies together a lot, which is nice because it means I don't have to talk to him that much. He recommended one night that we should watch "Dead Poets' Society." I said that I have never heard of it, but you know that I have. It was our movie. I never watched it with him, but I'm glad he has a good taste in movies. I'm just not as interested in him as I hoped I would be.
It never feels right when I'm with him. Of course, his hand is warm and it's nice to hold because as you know, I feel like an ice cube a lot of the time. The only problem is that I don't know his hand, and I'm not comfortable with it.
My hand doesn't fit with his, and my body never knows how to register it. It knows that he isn't you. When you spend enough time with someone, your body begins to familiarize itself with them. Your body gets used to them and you begin to memorize every little thing they do. The way that their chest rises and falls when they breathe and you're lying on them, how their fingers feel while tapping against your skin, just everything about them. Their rhythm. You can expect what they're going to do. A new person is so unpredictable, it's scary and your body can't cope.
And besides, he really enjoys drinking carrot juice. That's just disgusting.
Kelley and Ali and everybody keep telling me that there are plenty of fish in the sea. I feel like a fish being flushed down the fucking toilet.
Have you heard of the multiverse theory? I bet you have. You like reading about things like that. I've gotten the chance to read about it because it's very interesting, so I clear up a lot of time for it. Anyway, if you haven't, it's the theory that there are an infinite amount of universes parallel to our own universe, and so there is a universe for every single possibility.
So that means somewhere out there, a universe exists where the fight we had on April 1st never happened, or maybe it did, but I was brave and mature enough to track you down. A universe where I didn't say all those things that you know I didn't mean, a universe where you didn't leave without giving me a proper goodbye. We'd still be watching good movies and going to your parents' house and watching soccer games and doing all that cute coupley stuff, like holding hands and cuddling. You'd still take me to that restaurant downtown with the horrible meatballs that taste like rat poison, but you really liked them so I ate them anyway.
Sometimes, I do walk past your parents' house because it's a part of my walking route. As much as I want to knock, there wouldn't be a point. Your parents are wonderful and they liked me when we were together, so I'm sure they'd be nice, but you wouldn't be there, so there's no point. You never really liked being alone with your parents anyway. You just took me there because you were proud of me.
You really haven't gone to see your parents in a while. A really long time. You're... pretty far away, anyway. So it doesn't matter.
I wonder if you remember me. I wish you'd just tell me, or send me a sign that you do, in fact, remember me. Jesus, I wish you would. If I'm being really honest, life is, well, fucking miserable. Look. I've written this entire thing without using the L-word that we used to use so much, but everyone including me knows that I still love you. I am very scared that I won't ever stop loving you, because it's so hard not to love you. You were the best friend and lover I ever had.
I hope you're doing alright with God up there, playing soccer with the angels, because I miss you. Six months and seventeen days haven't changed how much I miss you.
Love,
Alex