He Left Me a Letter Instead of a Goodbye — and I'm Still Crying

It was a typical Tuesday.

The kind where the coffee tasted a little distant, the sky hovered between blue and gray, and I didn't see anything unusual in his eyes. We shared breakfast, talked halfheartedly about bills and weekend plans, and exchanged "see you later" before heading out the door. Only... he didn't mean later. He meant forever.

I found this letter in my favorite book — our favorite book — The Little Prince. He always teased me about how I cried every time I reread it, and maybe that's why he chose it. Because he knew I'd eventually get the letter. Because he knew I would break again.

There was no name on the envelope, no return address, no "To My Love" or "Dear You." Just his indistinct handwriting on the back:

"Please don't hate me."

I opened it slowly, as if the speed of my fingers could change the outcome. As if there was any chance he wasn't really gone.

The letter:

"If I tried to say it to your face, I would break. And you would stop me, as you always did - with your fierce love and your stubborn belief that we could make it all right. But some things just can't be fixed. Not this time."

“I’ve been drowning in myself for longer than you know. I smiled when I didn’t want to. I laughed so you wouldn’t worry. I promised you forever when I wasn’t sure I’d live to see you next week. I never wanted to hurt you, but staying felt like dying a little more every day.”

“It’s not your fault. You loved me more than I deserved. You tried so hard to hold me together when I was falling apart. But loving someone isn’t always enough to fix it. And I’m so tired of pretending I’m okay.”

“I didn’t want a dramatic ending. No fights, no locked doors, no last tears shared on the porch. Just… a quiet exit. Like a whisper.”

"You'll hate me now, I accept that, maybe one day you'll understand that leaving wasn't about running away from you, it was about trying to find yourself before it was too late."

"I hope you find someone who doesn't weigh me down. Someone who sees your worth and runs to it, not away from it.

"Please remember me as someone who loved you… just not in the way you needed me to."

-M

I didn't realize I was crying until the ink on the page blurred under my fingers.

He didn't pack much—just the essentials. No drama. No chaos. Just… absence. His scent still lingered in the closet. His toothbrush was still with me. But the silence screamed. And the letter? It hollowed me out.

People ask if he left me? I say yes, but that's not the whole truth. He left himself long before he left me. I saw him the way he looked at the ceiling at night, the way his laughter didn't reach his eyes, the way he touched me like He was saying goodbye even though he wasn’t there.

It’s been months now.

And some days, I reread the letter, just to remind myself that it wasn’t a dream. That someone could love you and still be gone. That love isn’t meant to last forever. That sometimes, the people who hold your heart don’t live to see how beautifully you make it again.

I don’t hate him. At first I did, with anger, with bitterness. I screamed at the walls, I threw the book across the room, I cursed the silence he left. But the hatred faded. The sadness turned to sadness. And the sadness… slowly turned to understanding.

He was hurting in ways I couldn’t reach. And maybe his letter was the only goodbye he had the strength to give.

Still, some nights, I wish he’d stayed. I wish I’d ​​held his hand a little tighter. I wish I’d ​​known what words would have saved him.

But wishes don’t rewrite stories. Are.

They only echo in the silence he left behind.