I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.
I know I’ve told you that a million times, but I just keep saying it over and over to myself. Every breath I take feels like the word sorry. I can’t stop thinking it. I look around the house, at all the things we bought together, all the souvenirs of trips, and I see your face in everything. I hear your laugh. I want to hear you laugh again so much.
I picked up the serving plate we agonized over in Vienna. Remember? The crystal one that was so delicate, so expensive. But I wanted it so badly, I don’t know why. The angels, I guess. I love angels so much. You kept saying, It’s too expensive. It’s impractical. It’s too delicate. How will we get it home?
I finally gave up asking. And then, on the last morning of the trip, I was packing up, so sad to be leaving that glorious city. I wasn’t even thinking about the plate anymore. I’d given up on it and I thought you were right. I was being impractical.
You told me you were just going out for a newspaper, but then you came back with that plate! I couldn’t believe it. I cried so much, didn’t I? Like a baby. I don’t know, but I think it was the most wonderful thing anyone’s ever done for me. I was so happy. I’ll never forget the feeling in my heart, knowing that you loved me so much. I kissed you all the way to the airport. You laughed and laughed. How I miss your laugh …
I packed it so carefully … I really did. You know that. But you were right. It was too delicate to make the trip. When we got back, it had cracked in half. And then I cried. I just felt so stupid. So selfish. You held me and said, “We can fix it. Don’t worry. It’s broken, but it’s not ruined. It’ll be all the more beautiful with a faint scar in it. And much stronger. You’ll see.”
You wanted to fix it yourself – and you did! You were so careful, getting that special adhesive, following the instructions online. And you were right. It was more beautiful, more precious to me, with that faint scar. I still cherish it. But I loved what you said about it. “It’s stronger now,” you told me. “And you’ll never have to worry about breaking it again. Because it’s already happened.”
I passed it last night, glinting on the sideboard. I picked it up and studied it, running my finger along that little rift, remembering. Yes, it was more beautiful. Those angels sparkling, laughing, uncaring. The crack was barely noticeable. It was the angels I saw. It was your face I saw.
Can’t we fix us that way? Can’t we be better, stronger, more beautiful, because of this? I promise you won’t ever have to worry again. I know now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you are the most important thing in the world to me. I miss your skin. Your hands. Your lips. Your laugh. I don’t want to live without you. I can’t.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t even want to bring it up, but I told you he meant nothing to me – and with each passing day, that becomes more apparent to me. I hate myself for it. I’ll never forgive myself. But I beg that you forgive me.
Please, let’s fix this … we can be happier, better, stronger than ever … I know we can … We’re not ruined, just broken a bit, and I know we can fix it. I love you so much … I miss you so much … Please come home to me …
With all my love forever,