Sunday Letter #32

Ian,

A year ago this afternoon, you and I weren’t talking. A year ago this evening, events conspired to throw us back together, and a year ago in the wee hours of tomorrow morning, I told you, sitting in the front seat of my car, that being with you was like coming home. And you agreed and asked me to come in to sing for a while.

The rest of that night, we hashed out some things, and I know you said & did some stuff that you weren’t too happy with. I don’t think you believed me when I told you I understood and loved you anyway. And I know you didn’t even consider acting on my request that you get some help to deal with your anxiety and depression

I wish you had.

Maybe that night was the beginning of your final spiral into believing we’d all be better off without you. Maybe I should have pushed harder. But you were stubborn, and I thought it would only serve to drive a wedge between us yet again. And I THINK you were generally better off when I was around… Maybe not. Maybe it was only me who was better off when we weren’t taking one of our breaks.

Or… Maybe we were really bad for each other, and couldn’t see it. At this point, I’m questioning everything I thought I knew about you.

Today’s hard day, for some reason. I miss you a lot. I hope you’re better off now. I hope you’re happy. I hope I can see you again.

-Iris

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