I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve rewritten this a hundred times, each version of my apology falling short of what I really want to say. Maybe that’s because no words could ever be enough to fix what I broke. But I have to try. I owe you that much, even if it’s too late.
I remember the first time we met. It was raining, and I was struggling to open my umbrella while holding a coffee in one hand and my phone in the other. You laughed and offered to hold the umbrella over both of us, and I remember blushing because you were effortlessly kind in a way I wasn’t used to. That moment stayed with me. It was the first of many small gestures that showed me who you really were—someone who always thought of others before himself, someone who noticed when I was cold and gave me his jacket even when he was shivering himself, someone who listened even when I had nothing important to say.
I can still picture the nights we spent talking for hours about everything and nothing. Sitting on the rooftop of your apartment, watching the city lights flicker like tiny stars below us. You used to say that the world was too big to feel alone, but I never really understood what you meant until now. Because now, without you, the world feels empty. The streets we used to walk together feel unfamiliar, the songs we used to sing in the car now make my throat close up. And the worst part? I have no one to blame but myself.
I was selfish. I took you for granted in ways I didn’t even realize at the time. I thought love was something that could survive anything, no matter how many times I pushed you away, no matter how many times I prioritized my own fears over our relationship. I let my insecurities dictate my actions. I questioned your love for me even when you had given me no reason to doubt you. I overthought every little thing you said, convinced myself that one day you would wake up and realize I wasn’t worth it. And instead of confronting those fears, instead of being honest with you, I built walls. I shut you out when all you wanted was to be let in.
I remember the day we had our worst fight. It was over something small—something stupid, really. I can’t even remember what sparked it, but I do remember the look on your face when I said things I didn’t mean. The hurt in your eyes, the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you tried to hold back your anger. And then, the worst part—the moment you stopped fighting. The moment you just sighed, ran a hand through your hair, and said, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
I should have fought for us then. I should have apologized, begged you to stay, told you that I was scared but that I loved you more than my fears. Instead, I let my pride win. I let you walk away.
And now, I replay that moment over and over in my head. I think about all the ways I could have changed things. If I had just picked up the phone when you called that night instead of ignoring it out of stubbornness. If I had just told you how much you meant to me instead of assuming you already knew. If I had just chosen love over fear.
I see you sometimes. Not in real life, but in the places we used to go. I’ll be sitting in a café, and I’ll hear someone laugh the way you used to, and for a split second, my heart leaps before reality sets in. I walk past the bookstore where we spent hours picking out novels for each other, and I wonder if you ever go there anymore. I wonder if you think about me. If you ever miss me the way I miss you.
I know it doesn’t matter now. You’ve moved on, and I don’t blame you. I hope you found someone who doesn’t let fear hold them back. Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. Someone who knows how to love you the way you deserve.
But if you ever read this, if you ever wonder if I regret it—please know that I do. With everything in me, I do. I would give anything to go back and do it all differently. But all I can do now is say I’m sorry. And hope, somehow, that matters.