Letter Thirty

Now, it would be remiss of me to end these letters without giving you the most important truth of all.

I can’t pinpoint the moment I fell in love with you. Though, believe me, I’ve given it some serious thought.

Maybe it happened while we shared that cigarette. Maybe it happened when you gave me the ring. Or maybe it happened slowly, over hundreds of hours, while we were stuck inside that dark dungeon of a house, giving small pieces of ourselves to each other.

Regardless, it happened.

It was always real.

It still is—and maybe someday you’ll let me say it out loud.

I love you.

And now I finally understand what that means.

It means letting you see all of me, even if the truth takes you away from me for good.

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