It may be too late to amend the grave faults I have committed. And so here I am hoping and wishing nothing from you --- not even your forgiveness. I seek only to make amends and resolve, albeit quite inappropriately in this concise note. I am well aware that it took me almost four years to write an apology and that I should've said these things earlier to appease the grudges and scars left untreated --- a closure if you might like it.
Our relationship was nothing short of suffocation, agony, intermittences, and romantic tyranny. We weren't really in love, per se, for at its worst, it was merely a cruel ploy of emotions and a matter of idealization and juvenile angst that led us to believe that we were ideally soulmates. When in truth, we were both the victims of our undoing: a succession of actions fueled by erroneous ideas that only served to seek our ruin, such as the idea of romantic fatalism, wherein we convinced ourselves, through a series of rhetoric, that our collision was not a matter of coincidence but divine fate, only to be torn asunder by its empty sophistry. However, it would be a grave mistake if I lay all the blame on the romantic writers and poets alone since we were both at fault, for our age could've not possibly conceived such rationale. I could not be more sorry than I am already, for I have made unrealistic promises to you at the onset of our succinct romantic venture only to forsake you in a manner that is unjustified and irredeemably humiliating. But whatever the case may be, I have chosen a better path for both of us. It may not be as pleasant as one might contemplate because our conservative culture is highly inclined to dismiss the unpalatable truth that can befall any relationship --- that a lover could also fall out of love and that one is not morally reprehensible for having done so---
We have no hold over what we might feel the next day, no more than what the weather will be tomorrow.
I also would like to let you know that I never had a mistress, nor any romantic affiliations behind your back to be with another woman. It was but a reflection I had come into contact with prior to our break-up, whereby I was left with the truth that the pursuance of our neurotic relationship will have both left us at the pedestal of self-depreciation and self-denigration, where what was once deemed love has become a caused for profound hatred and disgust.
For some time now, I have had the opinion that in matters concerning our hearts, reason must also be at the helm of our judgments. I know that it sounds rather vapid and overused, but undeniably so, I am in search of myself in between the pages of the books that offer relevant and timeless truths. I even went so far as to take psychology to find this self-knowledge that I am blathering about, and I am more than willing to pursue whatever will lead me to know myself.
I'm afraid of dying of having not known the what, the how, and why I am who I am. And we cannot find it on anyone other than from ourselves. May you discover for yourself that we are all victims of an overtly whimsical and highly romanticized era that promised wholeness through longing for a romantic partner. When in truth, we can do just fine without them
It may sound bitter in its tone, but I stand firmly by my judgment that there is no such thing as the "right one," there is only a choice. Moreover, no amount of romantic love could ever heal nor supplement our inadequateness and insufficiency. We must learn to accept, in its complexity, that we will always be a little broken and a little crazy no matter what fortune chooses to bestow upon us.
In summation, I regret nothing from our short-lived affair, though marred with bitter resentments and tyranny. You once made me feel loved and cared for, and I am much grateful for the momentary bliss we had and once thought to be everlasting. But as every love story goes, it must come to an end. Farewell, dear friend.
Yours, K.C.
