It has already been a year since we broke up, but I can still feel that strong ache in my heart like it's only been yesterday.
How are you, my old love? Did you think about me today? If you only knew how much I think of you since the day you left, you would probably laugh at me for being too weak to let go. Isn't it sad because I can see how happy you are now that you're no longer with me. I can clearly see how much you're lovin' your life right now—like you can finally breathe now that I'm gone, like you can finally experience a whole lot of things since no one's holding you back anymore.
Yet here I am. I am still writing about you—poems, blog posts, short stories, diary entries. You can name them all, but I always talk about the same thing—you and us. I guess, some things will never change. I have so many words about you and about what we've had.
You see, my dear, you're the one who encouraged me to write no matter how terrible my grammar is. You're the one who taught me some unfamiliar words, which you said I could use in writing my essays and stories. You're the reason why I read books so I could be as smart as you when it comes to this language.
For all those things, I am eternally grateful. But now that you have moved on and I'm still stuck here on the same chapter that we've been working on, I think that my unsent letters will continue to increase as you slowly forget our story. Maybe this is my way of reminding myself how happy we've been. Maybe this is my way of refusing to forget.