Then he stops.
Just stares.
His eyes go bright, and for one wild second I think he's actually going to cry.
He hugs the letter to his chest like it's a love letter from the heavens.
"She loves me! She loves me!" he sings, twirling in place like an idiot.
I let out a low whistle and shake my head.
"That's a lot of words on a page for it to be that simple."
"Well," he says, grinning so hard it looks painful, "she said she misses me and she's gonna wait for me. And she ended it with 'Love,' so same thing."
I smile in his direction.
I've dreamt of Olivia almost every night since I got here. The regret eats at me in the dark, day after day, until it feels like it has become part of my skin.
She tried to break through my walls, to get me to open up. And every time she got one step closer, I shoved her six more steps back.
My heart belongs to her, whether I like it or not. And I've been cruel to her.
I glance down at my notebook again, knowing I have to do something. Anything. Before it's too late and I lose her for good.
My pen hits a fresh sheet of paper.
Olivia,
That part is easy.
Then I stop, my pen tapping against the page.
There's so much I want to say, but I can't find the right words.
Maybe that's the problem. The truth is there, raw and ugly, but I don't know how to hand it to her without making it soundlike an excuse. It isn't one. It's just me, finally staring down the damage I've done and realizing I might not get another chance to fix it.
How do you apologize for every beat of silence, every stupid choice, every time someone tries to reach for you and you act like their hands burn?
I swallow hard and stare at the page until the words blur.
You tried with me. More than once. And every time you did, I made you pay for it. I told myself it was easier that way. Safer. Cleaner. If I didn't let you in, you couldn't see the mess underneath. You couldn't see how much I wanted you, how badly I was already in too deep. But that was never the truth. The truth was I wanted you close and I didn't know how to be the kind of man who deserved it.
My grip tightens around the pen.
I should've told you that when I had the chance. I should've looked at you like you mattered, because you do. More than I know how to say right now.
The pen hovers over the paper as my chest tightens.
I'm sorry.
It looks too small on the page. Too weak for everything it carries. So I stare at it, then keep going anyway.
Sorry for the last time I saw you. Sorry for acting like I didn't feel anything when all I wanted was to pull you closer. Sorry for making you question what was real when you never should have had to.
I exhale slowly and lean back, staring at the letter.
For a long moment, all I can hear is the quiet around me.
