"There are days when he can accept everything that’s happened; he can accept that he’s lost the girl he once loved, the girl he still loves, because of his own lies and secrets. He can accept this because she deserves far better than he’ll ever give her, and letting her go means she’ll find that. Those days are the easier. Those days are bearable.

It’s the days when he misses her, when her absence is too much to bare, that are bad. It’s the days where the realization that he’s lost the person he loves the most comes crashing down on him when he struggles to cope.

It’s on those days that he writes.

Sometimes he writes a little, most days he writes a lot. Sometimes it’s about their memories, about the things he misses the most about her, and other days it’s just about his day and things that remind him of her. Sometimes it’s just about the dreams he use to have for them, the hopes he use to have for their future.

The writing differs with each day in length and summary, but they always begin the same and end with the same goodbye. They’re letters, letters that sit in his dresser, locked away in a box that he so desperately wishes he could send to her, to show he did love her, that he still loves her, that he always will; that what they had was real and meaningful. But in the end, the letters sit, locked away, because sending them wouldn’t change anything; she would still hate him and would still be without her.

Even on his good days, and even on his worse, he can accept that, and no amount of letters or written words can change that simple fact that she is no longer his..."