Letters to nowhere

M,
Today I realised I still have a photograph of you in my wallet.
A passport one I insisted on keeping, what, 2 years ago.
I can't imagine a day when I'll be ready to not have it there. Perhaps if it got lost one day, I'd never notice it's absence and forget it had ever been there, but to physically remove it.....? No. I can't. I am not over you. In the slightest.
I think about you for too long and I start to cry - and you know that's never been my style. But every time I find myself welling up, it reminds me of breaking down in front of a work colleague 3 weeks after meeting you because I was scared I'd lose this amazing thing I'd only just discovered. I didn't want to leave you. So I didn't move to London when I was meant to nearly 3 years ago. I stayed. For you.
But I guess I always loved you more - I was the first to fall. You are the first - and only - person I've ever fallen truly in love with. So gut-wrenchingly, awfully, head over heels in love with. So quickly, so totally.
I remember the first time I saw you naked, even though it was the first night I'd even seen you dressed, it felt like I was coming home. I knew you. There was no surprise. No mystery. You were just you. You were everything that somehow, I already knew to be you. And I remember being convinced from the start that you'd be the first one to ever break my heart. Maybe the only one - I'm loathe to open myself to that kind of pain again! I suppose I'm destined to return to the ice-hearted, distant and wary way I was before you.
I was always so scornful of love songs, stories of heartache. I couldn't believe in it. I didn't believe it really happened. Love was...meh. Not all that. In the past few months I've come to see that every mention of broken hearts is all too real.
You hurt me. And yes, I know, I struck the final blow. I pushed you away. I ended it. I brought this on myself, but it killed me that you could move to London without me, after I'd stayed for you. Because you asked. Because you wanted me to stay.
Then when you wanted to leave, I couldn't bring myself to ask the same thing. I thought it would be selfish. I wanted you to do what you wanted. But I still wanted you to want me. But I was scared to ask. I was scared to really delve into pleading for confirmation that you loved me in case I heard an answer I didn't want.
Once you were gone, of course I wanted to make it work. But I didn't want to have to fight for you, to struggle, to try. I'd decided in the fairytale love affair, you were Prince Charming. That your devotion would be unfaltering and unconditional. We'd live happily ever after without ever needing to try at it. Our love would be sublime. Effortless. And having put such a high standard on us, when I felt you slipping away from me, I started to shut myself off from you. Locking you out. Protecting myself against your change of heart I felt to be coming. I closed the book of fairy-tales - I wrote 'the end' too soon.
I decided I needed to toughen up, grow up, be more independent, not just your lovesick fool.
And just like all growing up, I wish I could go back. Back to the time of innocence, when our fairytale was real.
Even though you could annoy the hell out of me, I'd never been so happy or secure as when I was with you. It was the only time I was content to say 'this is it' and be happy with my lot.
It was the only time I've ever said forever.It was the only time I meant it, with all my heart and soul.
I still love you.
I'm sorry.
Forever yours,
Ali