Months ago, I overloaded the old bookshelf that my good bro gave me. That old things broke down into pieces, but I was too lazy to clean it up. After all, all my college texts, notes, important documents, and a zillion other little things were buried in there. It’s the first day of Spring semester today and I need a bookshelf for my new textbooks, binders, and notes, so I reluctantly put it up again, hoping it will last this time. And as I went through my books, I came across your letter. I’m glad I did open it. I’m glad I never read it again. I’m glad we broke each other’s heart.
When I first got your letter, I sat on the steps and cried as I read it. And then I knew. I knew after that we could always blame the fools around us, but it was really us. It was really me. We treasured each other so much, we saw each other so clearly that we know what the other person would do, and yet our idea of happiness was not the same. I knew what you had done for love, and still, I tore your heart apart. I loved you too much to keep your hopeless dreams. I’m glad I gave you up.
When I left, I didn’t take your letter with me because I was afraid it would recall how real a thing called Love was. And yet I was trapped. I thought of you when I wandered alone in the woods, when I was floating along the river, when I was on the train or in a flight. I cried when I saw the street lights at night. It wasn’t easy to erase that much memories. But I’m glad I did.
When I came back, there was a growing distance between us. It’s so awkward acting like old friends that I wondered who was more cruel between the two of us. It hurt too. But I must admit, that was what I hoped you would be. You will never stray too far from where you go as long as I’m not there anymore. She was right to be cautious of me, even though I looked down at her for that. After all, more than once I distracted you. And too often I stirred a feeling in your heart. I’m glad we kept a distance from each other.
I took your letter with me when I left again, thinking that was the end. I can only treasure a love from the past this way. I’m glad you were not there to heal my broken heart this time: I healed on my own. It’s hard to say I still love you, I’m afraid, but it’s impossible to say I don’t. Sometimes I asked myself some silly questions until I won’t be scare of being true to myself anymore.
And maybe, because a part of me still loves you, I found your letter and did not open it. I kept it like I would do to the memories we shared. I put it away again because now I love someone else too much to hurt him, and I hope you are in love with a girl that you would rather losing me a hundred times than making her cry. I’m glad we broke each other’s heart.