The decision I made was wrong. It was wrong, probably from the very beginning. Everything we went through was destined to be fruitless, we knew it from the start, and yet we still went for it. And through it all, in the end, it was still wrong. There was no single decision I made in that period that was correct.
But I regret nothing, nothing until the last decision I ever had to make about the two of us, and that was—letting go.
After all this time, I still feel an urge to cry, whenever I see or hear anything from or related to you. Every word that you say, be it mindless or meaningful, directed at me or anyone else, every meaningless syllable you utter, they still trigger the teardrops trickling down my melting heart. One day, perhaps, this heart will wither away, and still, at its core, there will be an image of you.
Dear Derik, I love you.