Monday, May 19th, 2025 8, 04 pm.
Dear Lagu,
The last time I remember writing a letter like this to you was when you left abruptly for Port Moresby without telling me, a few months back. Writing to you now feels like visiting your grave, except your body isn’t six feet beneath my existence. I’m just standing at an empty tomb.
I’ve been struggling to cope with your absence. It’s been 14 days since I last reached out. I’ve been watching countless YouTube and TikTok videos titled “How to get over a breakup,” “How to heal a heartbreak,” “How to let go,” “How to move on.” Some offered comfort — briefly — but the reminder of your absence always comes rushing back. Others just made things heavier. So I gave up.
I’ve lost my appetite. Cooking used to be therapy, remember? You always said so. Now, the thought of it weighs me down. I’ve been eating whatever I can grab from the convenience store. I also found two new Japanese bands: Doberman Infinity and Be: First. I’ve been playing Doberman Infinity’s One Love repeatedly, day and night. It’s carried me through a few breakdowns. I even started smoking again. At first, it felt like something to look forward to. But even that’s become dull. I’m tired of striking a match, tired of the inhale.
The first week — last week — was brutal. Mornings and nights were the hardest. I cried almost every day. I only dreamed of you once. After that, you disappeared from my sleep. That dream — the one where we talked on WhatsApp — still lingers. I told you I loved you. You replied: “Deactivate mode on.” Then you blocked me before I could say anything else. I woke up gasping, crying, and shaking. My body felt so weak.
This week is no better. No matter how badly I want to, I keep stopping myself from messaging you. I slept most of the day, drifting between tears and TikTok. I finally took a shower. I sat under the warm water and let myself cry again. Then I dried off, went to bed, and told myself not to talk or think. Even the sound of my voice exhausts me now.
As I lay there, I thought about our last night together. I imagined what might have happened if I had just spoken up and said what I wanted. I replayed the scene:
You lay on your stomach beside me, scrolling TikTok. I looked at you and said, “So that’s it? You’re just gonna stare at your phone?” You glanced up, confused. “What?” I smiled, bolder. “You’ve got this amazing body next to you, and you’re wasting the night?” You ducked your head, shy, and giggled. “Uh, no, I thought…” I grabbed your hand, placed it on my breast, and teased, “Thought what?” Your eyes widened, excitement sparking, even after our wild moment minutes ago. “Come on, grab the other one. Two hands for a reason.” You cupped both, sucking each gently, eyes locked on mine, full of desire. I love that look. You kissed me, your breath divine. My body responded, juices flowing. Your hand trailed down, parting my lips, playing with my clit. I gasped, and you smiled. “You want ownership, huh? This is yours,” I whispered. “Play with it.” You breathed, “Yeah?” I moaned, “Yes, daddy.” Your fingers thrust inside, pumping as I gasped louder, “Just like that.” You took my clit in your mouth, fingers stretching me, and I moaned for minutes.
You came up, letting me taste myself through your fingers, your lips. Then you slid inside me, thrusting deeper, harder. God, it felt so good. I wanted you forever. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, and you did, shaking against me. I love your trembling, the most beautiful sight.
I cupped your face, kissed you, and said, “I know you hate kissing after, but I love this.” You kissed me back, silently. I looked into your eyes. “Remember when I said I had feelings? I’m falling deeper in love with you.” You shifted, about to speak, but I continued, “You don’t have to say anything. I know don’t feel the same, but I needed to say it for me.” You stayed still. “I didn’t expect this love, but it’s here. I’ll try to let it go, but if years from now I still feel this way, I won’t say it again. Just know I love you, always.”
I played this scene in my head, lying in bed, to comfort myself with your loss. It might seem crazy, but it’s how I cope with you being gone forever. I’m thinking of writing more fictional stories, changing our reality’s narrative. Maybe this will help me heal and move on.
