Epilogue
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for everything. I only wish I could turn back time so that you could have never loved me. I never wanted to hurt you. I never thought it could go so wrong. I'm sorry for every let down, every disappointment I forced upon you: every one. I'm so utterly, deeply sorry for neglecting you and forgetting myself. I'm sorry for being so blind, so ignorant. In my conceit I thought you'd always love me, I thought I couldn't go wrong. I'm sorry I was too scared to face the fact that I was hurting you. I never meant it: never wanted it to be that way. I never saw it, until it was too late. I'm so terribly sorry that I never saw it. I'm sorry I brushed away the tears, brushing them aside as if that would ease the pain. It hurt me so much that I couldn't protect you - not really protect you. Not from the fears and the nightmares; from the world and the people. Not from yourself. I pretended that I could, that I could be your angel. Maybe we both did. I'm sorry I couldn't face that truth reflected in your eyes, or in my heart. I love you so much. I'll never make those mistakes again. I'm sorry. No more delusions, no more fancy thoughts or idle words. I apologise for myself, its less than you ever deserved, and its getting less with every word. Take good care my sunshine. You will never fade.
Is it courage which prevents me from saying these words? Am I strong enough to hold them back; to resist reliving old pains; to stop debasing myself and embarrasing her? Or am I too scared of her reply; or her reconsiliation; or her reposte? Too scared to stand up to an uncertain future, too scared to risk further pain.
Do I not send these words in a trembling, hand written letter because I am strong, or because I am weak?