Beautifully Written

Dear Annabelle,
I’m sorry.

I refold the letter from him, shove it back in the envelope and throw it onto the pile, staring at them. Sorry doesn’t do shit. He hurt me, and I’m not about to just forgive him. I’m surprised I even acknowledged the stupid letters in the first place. Was it his messy penmanship that said my name on the back of each envelope, or curiosity that got me to pick them up from my doorstep? I wish I knew.
I could just hear his voice, begging me to read the letters, telling me over and over again how sorry he is and how much he loves me.
“Fuck this.” I groan leaning back in my chair, but it’s like the letters are mocking me. They’re telling me to read them –that I need to read them as if they’re so fucking important and they hold the secrets of life. And in my case, they do. They hold the secrets to the last four years of my life that I wasted on him.
My heart hurts, it’s always hurting now. Everything I do is a constant battle between my brain and my heart now. Getting up in the morning is never easy, and going to sleep is even harder.
And now the real battle’s begun: read the letters, or don’t? Read. Don’t read. Read. Don’t read.
“God damn it.” I snap flying forward and slamming my fists on the table. I snatch the first letter once more and reopen it before taking a deep breath and starting over.

Dear Annabelle,
I’m sorry. I don’t really know where to start with this. You know I’m horrible at writing anything, but I’d do anything to get you back. I know what you’re thinking, sorry’s not going to do shit and you’re right. But this isn’t a normal apology, this is about us, our story. Before you decide that you’re done with me for good, that I’m not worth your time, at least let me tell you about us from my point of view. Just give this a chance, Annabelle.