Break Ups and Beauty

I did something awful. Well, I don’t think it’s THAT awful. I mean, it’s wrong but it’s not THAT dangerous or anything like that. In fact, I don’t feel guilty doing it because no one was put in a horrible situation. It’s just something that I did and that’s it. Nothing more. Everything stops there. But I will still confess because I want to talk about it.

I happen to read a letter that was not for me to read. I won’t tell the details of how I got it or who’s letter was it for because I might get busted. It’s from someone I just know by name. I haven’t even met her in person. But her words embodied my idea of who she is and how much she meant to the receiver of that letter. To make my actions worse, it’s not just an ordinary letter that the owner can lay anywhere around. It’s a letter so personal that it needs to be kept in a safe. It’s a long-ass letter of break-up.

I know, y’all probably thinking “You sick bastard! How awful can you get? You prying bitch you haven’t got the fucking right to read that!” I get that. In my defense, I was curious. And it was already in my possession. I wasn’t planning to keep it. I was giving it back. But I just needed to read it. I’m sorry, okay?

But I gotta say, I cried reading it. Seriously, I did. I can’t help it. It’s like reading a sad story only instead of it being a book, it’s composed of a few pages of stationary. In those moments, I’ve felt the foundation of their relationship (which was a long-time) and how things start to fall apart and how they needed to go separate ways and things like that. It’s just awful.

One moment, their whole relationship was just a filler conversation among my friends, not really something to spend our time talking about because we knew nothing much about it. They were like rumors, something to pass time when we’ve got nothing else to talk about and that’s it. We move on to more important conversations not looking back and wonder whatever really happened to both them. And the next thing I knew, I was empathizing with this sender. Crying for both of them and just feeling as if I was the receiver of that fucking letter. I felt the heartbreak, people. I was already heartbroken and I’m not even in a relationship.

So that’s it. That’s the story of how something that was not even mine, broke my heart. Letters, they’re funny, you know. Sometimes we see people for who they are with these pieces of written words in paper more than what we think we know of them in every day we see them. In letters, we get the courage to say the unspoken. We get to reveal and amplify the feelings hidden deep inside us that we have always been afraid to show. And it’s beautiful.

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