I'm sorry

At last, when my eyes rolled back and I fell, I think I felt warmth envelop me.

It spread through my body, not unlike the hugs you used to give me. It caressed even my eyelids, as if the first rays of light waking me in the summer mornings, on weekends, when the birds would sing a bit softer, when the air would feel a bit gentler.

I regret those days. Don't you? My dearest sunshine, my life has been gloomier ever since I caught you hand in hand with that other girl. "I had it coming" – I eventually reached that conclusion when you told me with a straight face you genuinely didn't understand what I was talking about, that we had never been girlfriends. Lazing around in your bed, surrounded by your scent and that of breakfast, I never even thought to confirm your feelings.

I thought the pet names you had given me were proof enough, the clothes lent to each other, the baths taken together, but no one could be cruel enough to not have even the tiniest of reactions, be it embarrassment or anxiety, for you to have been lying. When you said, without any sort of doubt, that you had always seen me as a good friend, I believed you. What other choice did I have? You've been nothing but sincere and kind; how could you be a bluffing cheater? If you were, it would mean it was all an act, and I cannot accept such an ending.

I should've asked and kissed you, made it clear when I had the chance, or perhaps I simply shouldn't have said anything about seeing you with that girl. After all, now that I've gone and made it weird, we stopped hanging out like we used to. I make my own breakfasts when I have it in me to leave my cold bed, all alone. I'm get up too late to even hear the birds. My dearest sunshine, I only live through the nights now.

I’ve tried calling you, but you must have been so busy that all my attempts have been forwarded to voicemail. I couldn’t leave a message, although I’ve tried, but I’d delete it before it even had a chance to go through, since I’d worry you’d hear my faint tears. I want us to be together again like we used to be – friends I suppose. It wouldn’t be right for you to call back out of guilt or pity. So I’ve tried texting you instead, but you must have really, really been busy, that I never got a read receipt. Perhaps you have those turned off, given I don’t even get a received receipt.

There’s probably a better explanation, though.
But.
I cannot think of it.

I’ve tried, in the end, resorting to written letters. Forgive me, please forgive me if what I’ve told you that day came off as some sort of betrayal, some hard line I was never meant to cross, as – friends, I suppose. Barely awake, I’ve spent most of my times carefully picking the best words for my apology, hoping that whenever you’re a little less busy, you could take a look at your mail. I’ve thrown many half-finished letters away, unsatisfied. With crumbled pieces of paper piling up in the trash, I’ve started wondering if I should leave you alone and wait for you to come back to me on your own.

When all is said and done, any honest reflection on our time together would show I’d always take the initiative when it came to contacting each other, never giving you the chance to talk to me first. I’m still doing that, when I call, and when I text, and when I write. My dearest sunshine, surely you would’ve come back to me once the initial shock of my confession had died down, yes? If I let you be, if I let you breathe, surely, yes? I only realise now that I must’ve been suffocating, being such a clingy – friend, I suppose.