I sit here twisting the simple ring you gave me on my fourth finger. The ring I never showed anyone.
I still remember the day I got the small vox in the mail, for my 18'th birthday, you said it was apromise to me of what our life would be. Simple, pure and beautiful. I cried when I read your letter.
I cried even harder when I threw it away months later.
I know that we're over, I'm not in denial. But I still cling to the widea that you were different from the rest, for I believe you healed me more than you hurt me. I had wounds no one ever even knew existed that you healed with your hands.
Your soothing words late at night kept me from pondering the pain in my life.
Your letters made me smile.
You made me laugh, you made me laugh from deep down, I didn't even remember how it felt to be free like that anymore.
I'm sorry that you're gone. I didn't know I could ache with such a deep love, such an all consuming unfurfilling love. But yet I do.
You were different from the rest.
I'm sorry I can't kiss the hands that saved me from myself.
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