Bittersweet.

You were always too good for me. I remember how we first met, admiring you from afar as you headed back to work after lunch. The quirky girl with the kind eyes and nervous smile, and the flame-red hair which captivated me instantly. Uncertain when I said that first hello, and more so as I took your hand. Your loyalty in tough times, even more so when I left for foreign climes.

Every moment spent with you was fun. I can’t remember ever disagreeing with you, or ever feeling anything other than happy. I would like to think that despite the way we ended, I made you happy too. You were the only one who didn’t end badly. Sometimes I think about what life would be like if we were still together – but then I realise that it wouldn’t have been fair on you; my wanderlust would eventually have taken over and I wouldn’t have been able to give you the security you deserved.

I didn’t think too much of it at the time, because I’d finally escaped that hell-forsaken town that had nearly destroyed me. I’d finally found a job and a life that didn’t judge me, and selfishly not thought of anyone else when temporary was possible to transmute into permanent. So I guess what I am saying is that I’m sorry for the undoubted hurt I caused. I should have done the decent thing, and flown home to talk it over like adults.

I don’t do regret, but for this, I shall make an exception.