I Broke Up with Reality on a Tuesday

I found her letters again. Not intentionally. I was looking for my vaccination card(classic Navy inspection panic) and suddenly there they were, stuffed inside an envelope that smells faintly of her old perfume. I told myself I wouldn’t open them. That I’d just put them back and move on. But, of course, I didn’t. Self-sabotage is practically my favorite hobby. There were five letters. I counted them like evidence at a crime scene. Her handwriting was the same rounded, almost childlike scrawl that made every word feel like it was hiding warmth. The first one was harmless. “Take care always.” “Eat well.” “Don’t forget to pray.” It was written back when she still believed I had direction. It had that innocent kind of faith people have before they learn you’re the epitome of the word potential. Just, all that potential never grew into something worthwhile. The second one genuinely hit me harder. “You always overthink everything, but that’s what I like about you.” I laughed out loud at that one. Yeah, funny how people romanticize your flaws until they eventually get tired of living with them. The third was dated during the pandemic. It said, “we’ll get through this together”. I remember that week. I was broke, jobless, drinking 3-in-1 coffee like it was prescription. She was the only person who ever talked to me like I actually mattered. Reading it now felt like revisiting a time capsule filled with sincerity I can’t afford anymore. Then came the fourth one, the goodbye without that label. “You’ll find what you’re looking for soon. Maybe it’s not me, but I hope it’s something that makes you whole.” Back then, I was clueless as to what that whole thing meant. And so I still replied with vigor and didn't pay it any mind. Told her I looked a lot better with my growing abs, and that I'd let her touch them if she wanted to. Now I know it was her final act of mercy. The fifth one was never finished. It carried just those words that only solidified the hatred I had for myself. ”Let's move on." That’s it. Just that. At first I felt in denial, thinking it was just a joke and checked the envelope again and again looking for another letter. Then I was aggravated with my lack of options. Before I knew it my sobs were uncontrollable, and I was ugly crying on my bunk with my roomate down below kicking the upper bunk with his feet. Her words broke me more than all the others combined. Because it broke the facade that I've been keeping, that we were okay. And that things would eventually resolve themselves. I learned the hard way that they don't. After reading, I just sat there on my bunk, sobbing, staring at the letters spread out like little ghosts in formation. Each one was a timestamp of who I used to be; the dreamer, the broke kid, the idiot in love, and the soldier trying to sound brave. I tried to laugh it off. I told myself, “It’s just pieces of paper.” But in all honesty, they just felt like receipts. Receipts for promises I didn’t keep. For a love I didn’t know how to hold. For a version of me that existed when she used to believe in me. Does that guy still even exist? That night, I couldn’t sleep. I read each and every one of them, again and again, under my flashlight. I felt like some deranged archaeologist excavating feelings that should’ve long stayed buried.