Page 123 of The Choices I've Made
Tears stung my eyes as I nodded in agreement, nudging my head into his shoulder. “I don’t know how to move on from you.”
“Nor I, you,” he said.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled back, finding those bright blue eyes once more. “But we’ll try.”
A sad smile tugged at his lips. “We’ll try.”
“I used to write you letters,” I confessed, “when I was angry or sad or just plain missed you.”
“You did?” he asked. “But I never—”
“I didn’t send them,” I explained. “But it helped me stay connected to you, even when I couldn’t. Even when I shouldn’t. Moving on doesn’t require letting go of everything we shared. I realize that now. We can honor our past while creating a future.”
“So, you’ll write me again?” he asked.
“Yes, and you’ll do the same. As many unsent letters as it takes. I’ll be your Dear Diary and you’ll be mine. Tell me everything. Tell me nothing. But, knowing, somewhere out there, you’re thinking of me, even for the briefest moment in between your shifts at the hospital or before a blind date, it will make moving on easier.”
My heart burned, like fire tearing at my soul.
“For me, too,” he whispered. “And maybe, one day, we’ll be ready to see each other again with a pile full of unread letters and a lifetime of memories, and we’ll finally be ready to share something real together.”
“Even for a day.”
“You can do a lot in a day.”
“I’m never going to forget you,” I said, each word more ragged than the one before.
He swept the tears from my cheeks with his thumb, his gaze never wavering. “I’m counting on it.”
I didn’t know how long I lay in his arms that night, willing sleep away.
But, eventually, the night claimed me, and I awoke to the crisp morning sun peeking through the window. Birds chirped, and a truck drove by on the gravel road.
Life moved on.
I looked to my right, the place where Jake had been just hours earlier, holding me while I wept. The salty stains of my tears were gone.
And so was he.
All that remained was a single sheet of paper.
Mols,
I know we’re not supposed to send these letters we write to each other, but watching you fall asleep tonight has left me aching to leave you with something.
Maybe I feel guilty, knowing you’ll wake up in the morning and find me gone. Call it the pragmatic in me, but I think it’s easier this way. If I spend another day here, I’ll never leave.
And you deserve better than what I’ve become.
You deserve so much more, Molly.
Stop waiting for your life to begin and live it. Whatever that means to you, do it. Don’t ask anyone’s permission or opinion. Go be young and wild. Do all the things you were meant to do, and maybe, someday, we’ll find each other in the same place at the right time.
For the last time.
Yours always,
Jake
