but I can’t move the mountains for you.
This is my apology letter to the both of us:
I’m sorry I kissed you in so many beautiful places. I wanted to ruin them for you. I wanted you to taste me every time you saw the stars, or a hidden cliff, or the moon on a lake. It didn’t occur to me that the heavy nostalgia would weigh on the both of us.
I’m sorry I made you say goodbye to my face; I thought you’d see my tear-stained eyes and have a change of heart, but it ended up hurting so much more after hearing everything aloud.
I’m sorry it took so long to let you go, although this apology is really just for me. You hurt me once, but I dragged it out. I don’t know what I put your heart through, but if it’s half of what I did to myself, then you deserve this apology, too.