Emails I might never send

Raw devastation.

I called a mutual friend last week, I told him I had been murdered and thanked him for witnessing it.

I told him that you and I might finally meet, I told him I’d be going to my funeral. To remind me to pack black.

I was being delightfully dramatic, and could laugh amidst the deep pain that was traversing through my body. I told him you’re good for my art.
When a heart has hope for a rekindle of something so valuable and precious as was our connection every little thing bears weight to anchor that hope. You told me “bad timing” and that you were not ready to meet, but that would tell me when you were.
I have at least tried telling you how I feel, I might not have done a very good job, but I should think you are aware that I have a very real, very tangible longing— for you.
You told me your relationship was under a “sword of breakup” and I had the energy to hang on to you, of course, in my delicate and tender hope did I wish you shared that with me with an air of possibility that we can meet, and that you may be free to meet in whatever way that would be.
I really enjoy our friendly calls, as long as I don’t have to hear about your relationship. That stings like a motherfucker, motherfucker. If you think I will be hanging around in Rishikesh to watch your blissful relating at the birthplace of our union, you can suck a bag of dicks. (Any swearing has a loving connotation, and I am using all the words I want to use and if you don’t know their meaning you can look it up.) If I want to be in Rishikesh at that time, of course I will be, but know that when I suggested we “go for chai” that was a dark, morbid joke.
I am not meeting you for chai. I am meeting you to die.
You understand?

And I gladly do it, I have made every single effort available to me to get over you, and to get over us. I haven’t been able to. I would love to be a friend to you, to have occasional calls and laughs, but until today it comes with longing, wishing and wanting. It is not neutral for me Alok.
It isn’t a tiny bit neutral.
I am willing to wait for neutrality, to walk the dark woods of my heartbreak alone, I can do that. I am not afraid. But when we call and I have to hear how your “not breakup” relationship keeps blossoming, come on. I know you haven’t read any romance novels, neither have I really, I am just naturally dramatic, it hurts like the sting of a thousand bees. I have chosen you.

I am dying to unchoose you. I am not able to.
Understand?