later

It's 2:40 a.m. now. I spent the last fifteen minutes thinking what to write. I still don't know what I'm writing, but I know it's for you. Too bad you'll never read it, love.

I got your text. I'm sorry I'm leaving you on read. I'm way too high and as I smoke my third cigarrette in a row I realized something I was too scared to admit while I was sober. We'll never be together, will we? I knew this day would come, but I hoped with all of my heart that it would take longer. It doesn't matter how much I love you, we will never be.

I know, deep down, you love me. But you're not ready to love me outside of the made-up world we invented for ourselves. Some day, eventually, we would have to leave this perfect litle world filled with serenity and laughs and warm touches and I don't think we would make it out there.

In our world, I'll continue to love you endlessly, but I need to go into the real world now, love. We were never meant for this universe, I was not, and neither were you. And I understand you not wanting to come with me. So this is where I leave you. We can still have our little world. I can meet you there sometimes. We were always so fond of the idea of other universes, anyway. So I will say this: in our universe we will always be together, watching movies we've already seen a dozen times, just laying in bed, our hands intertwined.

But in this universe I must kiss you goodbye on that hallway where I knew I loved you, for the first time, all those months ago. You cant meet me there when you feel like it. 

I love you. 

Always.