I admit, I should have known better. You warned me this would get complicated, and I thought it was all good. I was all cavalier bravado and macho clichÃ©. Now, for the first time, I realise just how complicated it is.
Because baby, I’m in trouble. With the thought of you, the smell of you; the touch of your skin, the taste of your breath, that last hint of perfume and the hair that smells like warm bread on a Sunday morning.
I’m in trouble because of the way we connected, the way we laughed, the way we ate, the way we watched bad television on your (frankly uncomfortable) couch. Because one Idol moment with you is better than all the wild nights of cheap booze and loose women swirling together in a blur of decadence and digi-cam flashes.
Because I’m a grown-ass man, and I’m getting tired of all the usual. Because I’m past all the bachelor rubbish, and it’s not that I’m starting to need less – it’s that I’m yearning for more.
Like a kind heart, a beautiful mind and a warm body. Yours, on all three counts.
Because even though we can’t be together, I long for your company, your voice, and your touch. Because I’d trade even a month of lonely nights just for one awkward morning.
Because this is a love letter – and I’m not sorry I wrote it.
Goodbye my lover, and I hope you’re happy (with yourself, more than anyone else).