Fear of Falling

beats before nodding. “I promise.”
    I lied.
    It was too late. I was already terrified.

Kami,
    I’ve written this letter in my head a million times. Shit, I’ve scribbled it down more times than I feel comfortable even telling you about before balling it up & chucking it across the room. But the truth is, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fully explain what I’m feeling right now. Confused? Yes. Upset? Hell yes. Hurt? More than you could ever know.
    I know I’m a selfish bastard for feeling like that. After all you’ve been through, I know I have no right to be hurt. But I am. I can’t help that. It’s been nearly three weeks, and all I can think about is the look on your face when I last saw you. When I lost you. So please, hate me for that. Say I’m a self-centered prick and an asshole. But don’t say what we had wasn’t real. Don’t take that away from me. Because, Kam, to me it was everything.
    Yeah, I get that it’s over. And I know it’s what needs to be done for you to heal. But, know that being without you is killing me. Fucking killing me every damn second of every damn day that I can’t see you. Or feel you in my arms. Or hear your sweet voice singing softly. Baby, I miss you so much and I feel bad for it. Like missing you won’t be conducive to your recovery. Like feeling this way will only make things worse. And that’s not what I want. Not at all.
    So I’m telling you, Kami, I won’t miss you anymore. I won’t hurt for you. I won’t need you like I do. And I won’t love you. Loving you is what caused all this. It’s what ruined us. And I am so sorry for that. I hate myself for failing you. For not being enough to save you. But I won’t fail you again. If this is what you need—for me to never think of you again—then that is what I am going to do. I’ll forget you. I’ll stop loving you like I do. Because, dammit, I do. So much it fucking tears me apart.
    I hope this is what you want. I know I didn’t get it right the first time, but I promise to try like hell to make it better.
    Always (Never),
    Blaine
    P.S. The jar is for you. Maybe before a big storm rolls in, you’ll use it to catch fireflies (see, I did remember something, city mouse. But they’re still lightning bugs down here). And if you do, just remember, the storm doesn’t last forever. It can scare you; it can shake you to your core. But it never lasts. The rain subsides, the thunder dies, and the winds calm to a soft whisper. And that moment after the storm clouds pass, when all is silent and still, you find peace. Quiet, gentle peace.
    That’s what I wish for you. Even if you couldn’t find it with me.
    I read the letter a second time. Then a third. Each word jumped off the page and slapped me in the face. Each sentence stabbed me straight through my fractured heart.
    I won’t miss you anymore.
    Loving you is what caused all this. It’s what ruined us.
    I’ll forget you.
    I’ll stop loving you.
    I repeated it over and over like a mantra, seeing if it would start to make sense. If the words could somehow form coherent thoughts for me to digest. Because I couldn’t understand. I just didn’t fully get it.
    Blaine stopped loving me. For me?
    I had really lost him. It was really over. And though we hadn’t been together in months, knowing for sure that he no longer had feelings for me just drove the knife in deeper.
    Maybe somewhere in the back of my convoluted mind, I thought we would find our way back to each other. That we were really meant to be. He told me that we were inevitable. That when you knew…you just knew. Maybe I had been holding onto that this entire time.
    The thing that probably disturbed me the most was Blaine’s belief that he had failed me. That he was somehow responsible for what happened. The thought of him carrying around that immense guilt, thinking that history had repeated itself, had me choking back a sob. No. I couldn’t let him think that. I couldn’t let him take the blame for my father’s actions.
    Blaine was a good man. The best kind that there was. He was the kind of man that women dreamt of taking home to their mothers. The kind of guy that opened doors and pushed in chairs. The kind of man that fairytales were written about and songs were sung for.
    And I had pushed him away. I had destroyed the man whose only crime was loving me. All of me—phobias, insecurities, and scars included.
    What the fuck was wrong with me?
    I folded up the piece of