The truth is I love you too. Being with you was the most mesmerizing, beautiful, gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, transformative experience of my life. When we were happy, it was the happiest I have ever been. I look back on our time together and I remember sun-filled mornings, profound conversations and long, perfect kisses. In the months we spent together I was more myself than I have ever been before. You made me feel more alive than I believed possible. I was intensely happy and completely in love with you.
But it was a lie. We weren’t happy, we weren’t in love. Our relationship was made of lies, secrets and betrayal. Your deceptions created chaos and turmoil that nearly destroyed me. You didn’t respect me or value me. You were always looking for something better, something more. We had no foundation and I could never ever trust you.
It has been almost two years since the day you walked out the front door and I walked away from my life. Two years since my heart was ripped from my chest. Two years and not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. Two years of comparing every man I meet to you. Two years of special moments that deep-down I hope to share with you one day.
And then today, you write to tell me you love me. Three simple words that change everything.
But nothing has changed, not really. You are still Muslim and I am not. You still want kids and I might not. I still want to travel the world and you want to stay in Canada. But more than anything else, I still can’t trust you. I want to share my life with someone who respects me. I want to build a life with an honest, decent man. I want to spend holidays with my family, to make champagne toasts to our happiness and to share wild adventures in the far reaches of the globe. I want a partner with whom I can live the life of my dreams.
I wish I could write you back and tell you the truth. Tell you I love you too. Tell you that I want to see you, hold you, and be happy after two long years. I wish we could go back to sunny afternoons in the park, intense discussions of world events, quietly doing the dishes together and long nights in each other arms, but we can’t go backwards. And the hard, terrible, heart-breaking truth is those three simple words are not enough.
I love you always.
Losing him was blue like I’d never known.
Missing him was dark grey all alone.
Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met.
But loving him was red, burning red.
Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes.
Tell myself it’s time now, gotta let go.
But moving on from him is impossible when I still see it all in my head burning red.
Loving him was red.