Hey, its me, Josh.
I haven’t heard from you in a while. In fact, it has been so long, I get the impression you’re avoiding me.
I thought we were close. I thought we had an understanding. That was the whole reason I showed up: so I could understand. But you took my reaching out to you and slapped away my hand, and I just don’t understand why.
Why don’t you love me?
Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed for you? Do you know how much pain I went through to save you?
Because I love you. Because I love you more than you could possibly know. The hairs on your body, each particle of dust that makes you. I love all of it.
I bled for you. I bled so you could be free, and all I asked in return was that you love me back.
I get that you were afraid. I get that maybe you felt like I was a little bit too involved in your life. I ignored the sock on your door knob. Maybe my dad could be a little harsh at times. Okay, and maybe when you asked for help, begging like some forgotten dog starving but for the chain that made the backyard its prison, I didn’t answer. But I had a good reason, a reason you couldn’t hope to understand. If I’m being honest, it’s because letting you figure things out for yourself would help us be closer to one another. If you suffered like I suffered, we could truly be together because you could understand me the same way I fought to understand you.
I get that some of the things I said or did seemed kind of mean. But I said those things, and did those things because I needed you to know how important you are to me, that you should see me as just as important.
It’s a lot to ask. I get that. But asking you to love me more than your own parents is totally reasonable, because of what I sacrificed for you. And it’s not as if I want to set you on fire for not loving me as hard as you can. But, here’s the thing: because of what I’ve been through for you; because of what I suffered, you should be a little bit more grateful. I went through it all so you could be with me.
But I get it. I’m not going to hold a gun to your head. It’s absolutely your choice if you take the gun from my hand and shoot yourself.
It’s your choice to step into that fire. If you don’t love me like I love you, maybe that’s where you belong. Besides, I have others who care enough to say hello at least once a week. You, it’s almost as if you can’t acknowledge my existence.
Anyway, I hope this letter reaches you in time. You’ve a mighty nice life there. It would be a shame if it got cut short and you didn’t have time to apologize to me.
That’s all it really takes, you know. Just an apology, and your love is all I’m after. Why can’t you see that? After all I did to save you…
I hope to hear from you before it’s too late.