It seems like it was only a few days ago that I entered your home with anticipation. Your little girl was there and I know how much you love her. She is your sun of the morning and your star of the night. Her giggles and her winsome ways are more important to you than the air you breathe. She is lovely for sure, a blessing, a gift of life and love.
I came to you that day with anticipation. You are always happy when she is around. Her laughter soothes your soul like amber liquid to a drunk. But on that day, the old you was present, the old you that I have known for years. Anxiety filled your mind, anger filled your mouth and your heart beat like a demon.
When you became pressed to the point of snapping, you snapped on me. I am so thankful that she does not know that side of you. But that side of you is so hard to bear, now as it always has been in the past, even though I have not seen or experienced that side of you in a very long time. It was quite a surreal moment we had, you and I, when you threatened to slap me. I am so thankful she did not witness your love for me in that moment.
You snapped and threatened. Something inside of me snapped and died.
I lost my love for you that day. It isn’t exactly that I hate you, for indeed I will always love you. But I lost love for you in that I lost respect, I lost hope, I lost anticipation, I lost expectation. It is as if you died to me.
For all these years, I have consciously and subconsciously worked for your love, your acceptance, your approval. For all these years, those essential elements from you have been altogether elusive, if not missing. That something inside of me that snapped and died was my need to have any of that from you. My anticipation, my expectation, my need of you died as surely as if someone jumped off a cliff to land broken and shattered below.
Since then, it seems that time has dragged on yet it seems as if that day happened to someone else entirely. I suppose I am in a state of shock, not because I received that part of you again, but because shock is a part of grief and grief is a part of death.
Something died that day; someone died that day. This is my letter to you of lost love.
I wish things could have been different. I wish you could have known me. I wish you could have known how to love me.