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Fuck.

I think she’s leaving me.

The thought alone makes me want to fold it back and pretend I never found it, but the need to know is suffocating.

Sergei,

I love you. You have to know that before you read it. I fell in love with you when you first held my hand, when you kissed my forehead before you ever kissed my lips. And I’ve been falling ever since. I want you to know that I tried, I tried staying for you.

I’d given myself a year, and if nothing changed, I would kill myself on my 20th birthday.

The letter falls from my hands.

My balance falters, and I stumble back until the wardrobe catches me. I lift my head toward the digital clock, my eyes frantically searching for the date.

March 21st. No.

No. No. No.

It can’t be.

Today is her birthday.

The roses I ordered a week ago should be arriving any minute; they’ll be waiting for a woman who is never coming back for them.

They’ll wither where they stand. Their petals will curl, slowly losing their life before falling one by one, mirroring the hollow, lifeless thing still beating inside my chest.

The paper crinkles as I lift it to read again.

I didn’t really think I’ll be writing you a letter but that would be just cruel. To leave without goodbye. Or perhaps this is more cruel.

You’re sleeping next to me while I’m writing this and you look so beautiful, Sergei. I know I’ll miss you. I’m missing you even though you’re near me.

I probably sound like a lovesick moron, but maybe that’s what I am.

The truth is, a lot has changed. I fell for you when I was only falling. It was a dark hole with no bottom, and it was too dark without you.

You call me sunshine, but you are my light, Sergei. You made me feel seen when I was nothing but a ghost.

You climbed over the walls I built around myself and became everything to me, even when I had sworn I’d never get attached, because I always planned to leave.

You have to believe me; you made me want to stay. I wanted to stay for you, for the world you promised, but it doesn’t exist.

A world where I can be happy doesn’t exist.

My past is catching up to me and I can no longer run. I'm tired, Sergei.

I’m tired of cutting myself, I’m tired of looking at your face when you search for new scars on my body. I cannot fight the urge anymore.

The past few months have been the best time of my life and I’d endure a painful, loveless childhood all over again if it meant being loved by you in the end.

I promise I’ll be different when we meet next time, and I’ll love you the way you deserve.

I’ll find you in next life. I’ll look for the moles scattered across your back, the ones that will take the place of your scars…because those are the places I kissed you the most.

I promise. I promise with all the love I have for you and all the love I don’t for myself,

If there is a next life, I’ll be completely yours, Sergei.