Dear Jane,

I should have written this letter a long time ago. I don’t really know what stopped me. Certainly it had to be done sooner or later. I guess I was scared. You get so comfortable, y’know? You get used to something, even if it’s maybe something bad for you, and you don’t want to change.

The truth is, now that I really look back on everything that’s happened between us, that this was never going to work. I should have seen that at the time. Not “because of that one time” or “if not for that one thing”-- never, plain and simple. You and I were never going to work together, and nothing either one of us could have done was going to change that. It seems so obvious now, but it’s still strange seeing it there in black and white.

If I’m really honest, most of this is my fault. I’ll admit that. I know I’ve ducked responsibility for a lot of the bad times in the past, but I’m through with all that now. It’s time for me to start being an adult, and face up to my shortcomings. My failure was in seeing you for who you really are. Or were. I know it’s funny coming from me, the guy who places so much emphasis on depth and truth, but when it comes to my love life, I’ve always been superficial. I catch only a glimpse of someone-- never the whole person-- and I suddenly decide that they’re everything I’m looking for. And even later, when I start to see beyond the surface, I’m not really seeing clearly, because it’s all being filtered through this idealized lens. I never gave you a chance to be you, because I was so in love with the idea of you. It’s a problem I have. You were being built into this impossible dream, and that can’t have been easy.

The funny thing is, you’re really not the kind of person I always tell myself I’m looking for, not really. That’s not an indictment, mind you-- I’m not blaming you for being who you are. It’s just a simple fact: you’re not my type (assuming I really have one). But damned if I wasn’t sure you were at the time. Now that I know you, though, now that I’ve seen beyond that false image I had in my head, if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t. I think we would have made great friends, but as lovers notsomuch. I was looking for someone else. Hell, we both were, we can admit that.

Of course, all this is not to imply that you are without stain. I may have ducked responsibility at times, but let’s face it, you barely have a concept of what responsibility is. (I know you don’t like to hear these things, but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? No one ever speaks ill of you. That’s just how you are.) You were dishonest with me from the very start, in ways that go far beyond anything I said or did. You lied not only to me but to yourself, and if you don’t see that, then you’re still doing it. You were often childish and selfish, and on more than one occasion you used either my problems or yours as an excuse for behavior that is reprehensible regardless of context. Mostly it was the lying, though.

That doesn’t matter now. I mean, it does, because it still hurts, but what good is it to fixate? I can’t change the past and I can’t take anything back once it’s said, so no use casting blame anymore. And hey, it wasn’t all bad. Actually it was mostly pretty good; it wouldn’t hurt if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t care so much. We had some fun times, shared some pretty wonderful memories, and at the end of the day, I feel like I’m a better, stronger person for it all. No, I wouldn’t do it again, but really, would you? I didn’t think so. No, it’s best to let these things go.

Which is why I’m writing you this note. Of course you’ll never read it, but it was really more about me than you, anyway (isn’t that always the way?). I just wanted to say thanks, I guess. And sorry, maybe. Yeah, it was a mistake, two years ago, or a year before that, or almost a decade past. It was a mistake every time, but well-intentioned all the same, and that ought to count for something, even if it so rarely does. Still, we don’t have to keep making our mistakes over and over. Everybody’s gotta learn sometime, I think I heard someone say.

I feel like we’ve made enough mistakes over these many years, you and I. And the truth is, I’m tired of it. Best of luck and all that, but I want something more, and so should you. The next time around, I won’t be picking you. Give someone else a go. I’ll be looking for someone different, someone better suited to me, and someone for whom I’m better suited in turn. Maybe it won’t work with that person, either, just like it never did (or could) with you, but at least I’m trying, and that’s something.

So good night and god bless, my dear, whatever your name was, whatever face you were wearing. It was a wild ride. But it’s time for someone new.

“The cards were scattered on the table, face up, face down, and they seemed to foretell that whatever we did to one another would be washed away by liquor or explained away by sad songs.”

-Denis Johnson, Jesus’ Son