Page 125 of The Choices I've Made

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Jake,

I hate you.

I hate you and this stupid letter.

I hate the moon and the stars and every single thing that goes on without you. I hate how much I hurt right now, how many tears I’ve cried, and how weak it all makes me feel.

But, most of all, I hate that you left and that I didn’t have the courage to follow you.

Because, if I did, I’d be in your arms right now. Maybe in that apartment you spoke about in Chicago. Maybe somewhere in between.

Maybe you would have changed your mind and come back.

Will you ever come back?

I followed you to the ferry today. I drove so fast down the road, I thought for sure I’d end up with a speeding ticket from Macon himself. When I pulled into the parking lot, I realized I was too late.

You’d already left.

When? I don’t know. It could have been minutes or hours, but you were gone all the same. I yelled, and I screamed. I cried and begged myself to get on that damn ferry and find you.

But I couldn’t.

Because, as much as I hate you in this moment, I love you more.

And I know you’re right. We need time apart. Maybe a month. Maybe a year.

Maybe a lifetime.

So, I’ll write the letters, shed the tears, and hate the world for a while, knowing it’s all part of the process—a process of getting over the hurt.

And finding myself…wherever she might be.

Love,

Molly

Molly,

I can’t do this. I can’t write to you and act like my fucking heart isn’t smeared all over Highway 12. I’ve barely made it to Hatteras, and I’ve already talked myself out of doubling back twenty times.

What are we doing?

Why am I sitting in a car on the side of the road, writing a goddamn letter I’ll never send, when I could turn around and be with you instead?

How can love be rational?

Maybe we’re doing this wrong?

I can’t write any more today. It hurts too much.

—Jake

Jake,

I drove to the ferry dock today.

I’ve driven to the ferry dock every day this month.

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