When I look up at the sky at night, I still think of you.

I’m so sorry for hurting you; I hope you know that. You’ve become family to me and when that happens my brain breaks—I’m sure you can imagine why—and I don’t know what of mine to trust. My feelings, my gut, my thoughts, my mind. I couldn’t see you anymore. I wasn’t seeing you. I was stuck in my body, in my brain, reliving the past again and again. Of course now that we’ve had some space, you’re all I can think about. I just want to talk to my best friend. Just want to hold your hand. Cuddle. Spend the night together in the same bed. Text each other.

But baby I don’t know what I want. I don’t know who I am. I almost called you the other night. Something bad happened and I was so scared—all I wanted was you. You ARE my secure base. But I couldn’t fucking do that to you. Not when I can’t be there for you in return.

Why does the timing never work out for us? Why can’t I explain my feelings to you (to myself, to anyone)? Are we truly and completely hopeless? Is the invisible string that connects us severed?

I’m so sorry I couldn’t choose you the way you’ve chosen me, again and again. It eats me alive. I hope you don’t hate me. I hope that you’re happy (but selfishly I hope that you miss me, too).

I’ve never been good at letting go. It’s hard for me to imagine a life without you. I hope I haven’t ruined our chances entirely. I hope that when I reach out again you don’t hate me, that you’re willing to talk.

But I promise I’ll be careful with you. I love you so much, baby. I just want my best friend back, but I want to do it right.

Goodnight, tofu, I am loving you.