I would really like it if we could stay friends. There are so many things I love about you, parts of you I find charming, and I put so much into our relationship: trying new things, meeting your friends and family, but it didn’t fulfill me. I waded in the deepest rivers of your soul and climbed the tallest mountains to get to your heart. I looked over the precipice cand saw something awe-inspiring: the possibility of something more, something better.
I wanted things to work. It was hurting me to stay but I tried to be strong. I cried some nights, waiting—nay, searching—for something that would make me say “I want to be in this place, with you, forever.” I didn’t find it. Truthfully, I envy the ones who love you—the ones who find joy within you. I wish I could be like them.
Your warmth, the music you played at night, how everything and everyone flourishes around you… I love those things about you and I don’t know if I’ll find them again but that doesn’t mean we should start a life together. I can’t settle—I have too much to see and do, and with you, I’m isolated. I didn’t belong there. I didn’t sense any permanence. It was like you and your family kept expecting me to leave and never fully accepted me. Others like me have left you so I tried to be different. In the end I, too, felt isolated and stifled on this tiny island of us.
You wanted to know why, if I left you once, would I bother coming back? Well, for you, silly. For us. I wanted to get to know you and your family as they are, not as I wished them to be. I wanted to experience every part of you, explore every inch of you. I longed to know your secrets. I don’t regret coming back for you but I think about who I would be with if I hadn’t. I wonder if I would be in love for real. I’ll never forget what we had together; it taught me new skills and shaped me as a person. It’s just time to move on.
I know that I will yearn for you when I’m gone. I will miss what we had even though it wasn’t real—because it wasn’t real. I can’t expect to have that freedom and security again. I will miss the people in your family who supported me, the people who became my family. I am sad I have to leave them on account of you.
But the truth is that I never loved you; and if we’re honest, Martinique, you never loved me either.