Prompt 1: Write a letter to the last person you kissed. (ver 1: The Frog)

For the next 30 days, we will be working on the daily writing prompts by Bianca Sparacino which we find truly inspiring.

Day 1. Write a letter to the last person you kissed.

Dear you,

I’ve never foreseen that the kiss we shared on that beautiful April night would be the last one we will ever have. And the events that transpired after would really take a toll on me.

I love you. I wish that kiss wasn’t the last. I wish I could be talking in the past tense.

Loved.
Wished.

 But this is my reality—something I am coming to terms with.

Dear you, 

if you ever wonder how I’m doing I just want you to know that I’m doing okay. Better than the last few months. I’m traveling. Remember the last time I told you I might be asked to relocate for work and live far away from home? Remember how I told you I didn’t want to leave? Look at me now—in the place where I was hesitant to go but ended up in anyway. Ironic, isn’t it?

I am partly excited and nervous. But mostly hopeful. Because I’m thinking that I am in a totally new place devoid of any memory of you aside from the ones etched in my brain. But this is me making memories without being constantly reminded of your being. This is me starting over.

A totally different set up is helping in a way. I wake up each morning in a room totally different from the one I had at home; in a place where you have no memories of. I am surrounded by new people and the possibilities are endless.

They say that to get over a heartbreak without really trying, kiss as many people as you can.

I can’t. I don’t want to.

Because I know that it would not make me forget. It will just make me think of you more. I don’t want to taint that beautiful memory of the last time we kissed; the last time I felt I belonged to someone; the last time I believed you felt the same way about me. Because even if it’s heartbreaking how our story has unfolded, I’m glad we had one.

There are days where I still miss you, but there are more days when I think of you less and less; when every hour of my day is not consumed by thoughts of the guy who broke my heart so bad that I needed to go far away. I guess it’s a good thing. I may not be able to call this place home yet but I can rebuild the broken pieces of me—here in this place where time seems to go slower; in this environment that seems to be glad that I am here.

I am coming home to myself.

Words by Frances
Photo by Nathan Walker


Read Althea’s version of this letter, Version 2: The Prince

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