Dearest,

I am not coming home, I regret to inform you. This location and distance from you is a lot sweeter than seeing your face. You are gentle soul with a kind heart. I like to think that you miss me and that you listen when I utter things with an underlying message of secret importance conveying hope and desire. I desire your love, a love non-existent now. I once had your heart during a fateful summer. We loved in the most unforgettable, beautiful way. Love inexplicably fades. You are no longer mine, I am not the woman you love. Another heartache to bear, waste of time, another heart to mend. I am staying here. I will not come back, I will not see you. Of course I shall call. Little pearls of water will flow from my eyes. Each time your voice shuts off, a point of pain will pressure itself inside me. There is total liberation in letting go, but wishful thinking causes continual yearning. So, I won’t see your face. Nothing will happen between us because I am not there. We won’t be together to make magic this summer like the summer ago. I would rather stay far from your grace, completely safe, than to be near your place, and not have you have me too. Eight hundred miles away, content to say I am only not with you because I am not home. Not with you not because the feelings you once felt no longer linger in your soul, the feelings I believed would forever remain inside your heart.

Sincerely,
The stealing woman