Dear Past,

I saw you today. You looked right at me. Maybe you didn’t know it was me. I mean, I am at least fifty pounds heavier than the last time and I was wearing a mask to cover my cough. But you looked right at me fluffing my hair so I could take a selfie on Snapchat.

Then you kept walking. You never looked back. I watched you go. And I thought to myself, how?

I watched you go.

Walk away.

Not look back.

I keep telling myself you didn’t recognize me. But you looked exactly the same as you did nearly eighteen years ago.

Eighteen years? Yeah. It’s been that long.

You knew it was me. There’s no way you didn’t. You were just as stunned as I was that this was the first time our paths have crossed in all these years despite this city being so small.

You didn’t look back. But you watched me pushed a child out of my body. You watched me scream how I wished I was dead and try to kick out our bedroom window. You watched me beg you not go so, so many times.

You did go. So, so many times.

But it was me who finally stopped answering.

I watched you sick from withdrawal lying in your own vomit. I watched you rifle through my purse for money. I watched you steal from my kids.

I watched you paint my toenails when I was too pregnant to reach my feet. I watched you ask me to marry you one of the few times you were completely sober. I watched you stare a picture of me and tell me how beautiful our kids would be.

Today, you didn’t look back.

You were (are?) an alcoholic. I was your enabler. Second most toxic relationship I ever had.

I left, I went so far away.

You followed.

You stole all my money when I was unemployed with a newborn. You pushed me to the ground two days after he was born.

I let you go.

Just to go back. Addicted to toxicity we were.

You threw my keys in a tree. The cops took the baby.

I needed out.

I left again.

Kept letting you back in.

Same cycle over and over and over and over and I had enough.

“Sarah, I think we need to talk,” you said in the last voicemail you ever left. The call I never returned.

I broke the cycle.

You didn’t look back.

I watched you go.

The things I did for you. The things you didn’t do for me.

The tears I shed for you. The tears you never shed for me.

The lies I told for you. The lies you told to me.

If you look for me, you’ll find me here.

If you read my words, printed and bound, you’ll see pieces of what you and I shared between the pages. You’ll see yourself. You’ll see me.

I hope you’re sober and well. I hope you’re happy. I hope you didn’t continue the cycle of toxic bullshit with someone else.

I wanted to say your name. I wanted to ask how you are. But I didn’t. I broke the cycle all those years ago. It can’t be fixed. Lord knows we tried. But I have thought of you time and again over the years, wondering if you ever changed for yourself. I hope you did.

I’m glad you didn’t look back. I wouldn’t have known what to say.

No love,

Sarah