To the One Who Threw Away Our Whole Relationship: I Didn’t

When the book I gave to him came home to me

In my hand, I hold the book I wrote and open to the title page with its personal inscription. I trace the letters and remember writing the words and transferring my heart onto the page. I never thought this book would make its way back to me. I never imagined that such a beautiful act of love would be tossed away, a message in a bottle that was never meant to find me.

I wonder if there’s a single solitary moment from our relationship that he hasn’t thrown away … because I’ve kept them all.

I could have kept the pain alone. There was plenty of it. I could have kept the creeping sense of isolation or the sting of betrayal we all feel when a much hoped for relationship crashes and burns.

Instead, I took the joy with me. The hope. The abundant love I had to give. The abundant love he wouldn’t take. The lessons, so many lessons.

I took the beautiful memories and neatly packaged them. I made peace with our love story — even its bitter end. I found a way to accept all his faults — and mine. All his mistakes — and mine. I took the love I had and let it be without trying to make it leave or turn it into hate. And I was free.

I never thought that a book I gave to a lover as a gift would end up back in my hands. I marvel at the miles it traveled to arrive in my mailbox and trace again the lines of his name and my signature below. I never anticipated this experience as an author or the way it would feel to read the inscription again.

When I first noticed it for sale online, I can admit that I broke down the way I haven’t in such a long time. I ordered it to remove it from circulation with its personal message meant for his eyes alone and cried throughout the transaction. Then, I waited and wondered what it would feel like to hold it in my hands.

I expected it to gut me, but instead, I felt a sense of peace. I don’t regret writing the words — or feeling them. I don’t regret anything.

In the end, we can’t choose how former lovers or even friends will see us. We can’t make them regard us with the same compassion and generosity we show them. We are challenged to acknowledge and accept what is without letting it change us.

I cried, and then I got angry. I stayed angry for a while. By the time the book arrived, I wasn’t angry anymore. What started as resignation faded into peace. I tried to give him the beautiful gift of my love, and the book is as good a reminder as any that he did his level best to return it. Still, it came home to me.

I’m okay with that. The book is in my hands, and I think maybe I’ll add a new inscription and send it back out in the world. I don’t want to remove or erase it. I don’t want to tear out the page the way I thought I might when I first learned it was out there. I think I’ll give it a little more love and let it go once and for all.

Old lovers have the right to hate us. They have the right to tell their story and to feel their feelings, and we have the right to ours. I love that I have seen the best in people and loved them because of their flaws, not in spite of them. I love that I tried even when I failed. It’s made me a better person and partner.

I didn’t expect to feel gratitude when the book came back, but in a strange way, I did and I do. I feel grateful for the reminder that what was cannot be taken from me. The memories are still mine. The love — mine, too. The lessons I’ve learned were terrible and beautiful, and yet, I am left with the firm conviction that I wouldn’t change a thing.

We leave so many pieces of ourselves with other people. Rarely do they make their way back. We grow anyway. To the one who threw away our whole relationship, I didn’t. I’m glad it once was, and I’ve made peace with the end.

I trace the words one more time and close the book.