To he who loved me,

You probably already know this, but I didn’t mean it. I should have said, “You make me happy,” or, “I think about you all the time.” Those three words gave you a false sense of primacy in my life, and I do not believe I will ever swallow the guilt I feel—I choke on it every day.

It was clear that you felt something incredibly powerful. I could see it in your eyes. Maybe it was because I was immensely overcome by your emotions that I fell in love by proxy, and when you were gone, the effects wore off. That isn’t real love, I know, but believe me when I say that in those fleeting moments I felt something more emotionally jarring than I ever have before; for those 10 minutes, I was convinced I was in love.

I didn’t realize how damaging it would be to both of us. It seems that when love is present, real or not, I do not know how to incorporate it into my life without destroying everything around me. At this point in my life, I am not emotionally or physically ready to be in love. I tried to force something that would have never happened. The concept of love was so overpowering that I thought if I told you I loved you, I could share the emotions you were experiencing. I did not care that you loved me—I wanted to love you, and I thought that if I said those three words that it would come true.

Instead, my selfish act led me to ponder on what it means to love. I looked at my family, my closest friends, and my mentors. I can feel the love I have for them in my chest, in my bones. You didn’t fit into any of these categories, and you definitely were not above them. When I was with you, I felt a strong sense of curiosity, fascination, desire, and excitement. The combination was beautifully overwhelming, but it didn’t last.

I lied to you. I lied to you about the most important aspect of the human experience, and I will never forgive myself. It is a moment that will haunt me for the rest of my life. You told me that I could never break your heart; I took that statement too literally.

The heart is resilient. You may not believe me, but I am more concerned about yours than mine.

Heal soon,

Margaret