Chapter 12: The Letters I Never Sent

The weight of emotions isn't always measured in tears. Sometimes, it lies in the words that were never said, in the stories that remained unfinished, in the letters that never reached their destination. It was on a gray afternoon, while the rain danced against the windows, that I decided to confront one of the darkest chapters of my life.

I hadn't opened the old trunk in months. It was a container full of memories, broken promises, and dreams that never came true. Inside were the letters I had written to Astrid. Each one was a cry of despair, a plea for reconciliation, or simply, a reflection of my own chaos. Back then, I hadn't had the courage to send them. Now, I wasn't sure if I had the courage to read them.

I sat on the floor of my room, surrounded by a silence so heavy it felt almost tangible. The cold from the wooden floor seeped through my legs as my trembling fingers untied the cord binding the letters. As I did, it felt as though a torrent of repressed emotions overflowed within me. I picked up the first one, a wrinkled sheet yellowed by time, and began to read.

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First letter: A cry of despair

"Astrid,

I know I shouldn't write to you. I know my words won't change anything, but I need to say this. I miss you. I miss the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn't paying attention, the way your laughter brightened the darkest days. I know I wasn't enough. I know I failed you, but if only you could see how I carry you inside me, like a wound that refuses to stop bleeding..."

My eyes scanned each line, and with every word, it felt as though a knife was sinking deeper into my chest. In those words, I recognized the desperation of someone who couldn't accept loss. When I folded the letter back, my hands were trembling. That version of me had been so broken I could barely recognize him, yet I felt compassion for who I had been.

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Second letter: An impossible longing

"Astrid,

I dreamed of you again today. In the dream, we were happy. We lived in a small house by the sea, with walls covered in books and a garden full of flowers. We never argued, we never drifted apart. We were perfect in that little universe that only exists in my mind. I woke up crying, knowing that place isn't real and never will be."

I paused, letting my fingers glide across the paper as though I could touch the emotions I had poured into it. I felt a deep sadness—not just for what I had written, but for how long I had clung to that fantasy. It was easier to take refuge in what could have been than to face what really was.

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Third letter: A reflection of emptiness

Each letter I read was a mirror, forcing me to confront the parts of myself I had tried to bury. My fears, my anger, my sorrow. All those emotions I had tried to suppress were now laid bare before me, raw and unrelenting.

Finally, I reached the last letter. It wasn't signed, and its words felt different. They weren't desperate or sorrowful. They were a goodbye.

"Astrid,

If you ever read this, I want you to know that I loved you with everything I am, and maybe more than I should have. But I also want you to know that I'm learning to love myself. I'm learning to live without you, and though it hurts, it's also freeing. I wish you all the good this world has to offer, even if I'm not part of it. Goodbye."

I closed my eyes and held that final letter against my chest. For the first time in a long time, I felt a peace I hadn't known was possible. It wasn't the absence of pain, but its acceptance. I realized that these letters were my way of letting go, of saying goodbye to a part of my life that had defined so much of who I was.

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The ritual of letting go

The rain continued to tap against the windows as I picked up a lighter and lit a small candle on the floor beside me. One by one, I began to burn the letters. The paper twisted and blackened as the flames consumed the words that had once been too heavy to speak. It wasn't an act of destruction, but of release.

The smell of burning paper filled the room as the ashes rose and floated through the air, a testament to everything I had survived and everything I was leaving behind. Each letter that disappeared into the flames made me feel a little lighter, as though I were reclaiming parts of myself that I had lost.

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The final dream: A luminous farewell

That night, I dreamed of Astrid. But this time, it wasn't a sad dream. We were walking together along a sunlit path, surrounded by trees that whispered in the breeze. In the distance, I could hear the gentle murmur of a river. In the dream, I knew it was a goodbye, but it didn't hurt.

She looked at me with that smile that had always stopped time, and said:

"Thank you for loving me the way you did. Now it's time for you to live."

I woke up with tears in my eyes, but they weren't tears of sadness. The weight on my chest had disappeared. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe without difficulty.

I knew there would still be hard days, moments when melancholy would try to return. But I also knew I was ready to face them.

Because this time, I was moving forward with a heart that was stronger, wiser, and finally at peace.