You must remember what happened a year ago, or else I wouldn’t even hear from you. But your name in my inbox is not a figment of my imagination, so I assume that you do remember.

I know you remember that I swallowed that bottle of pills. You remember how I cried as they pumped the bad drugs out of my stomach while you listened from 8,000 miles away. Maybe you even remember how it came to that in the first place. How coldly you told me that it was all over, without an explanation, like I never meant anything to you.

Is it because of guilt that you send this message to me now? Is it pity? If it is, then you’re wasting your time. It’s been a year. And though I haven’t found anyone new to love, I have done a great job of moving on. Spare me the guilt and the pity because it doesn’t matter anymore.

Sure, we can be friends. I don’t hate you. I never did. Yes, I know you’re happy with your girlfriend. I hate to admit it but for some reason, I still visit your webpage everyday. Your pictures say it all, so you don’t have to rub it in. But I’m happy for you. I really am.

And yes, its okay to ask me questions. You can ask me anything about work, or my family, or my friends. But, no, you don’t get to ask me how I am, not when behind my brave facade, I am still picking up the pieces of my life that you so carelessly shattered. You don’t get to ask me about my love life, not when you still remain the love of my life.

Its funny how a little message can bring back both bad memories and hope. It shouldn’t, really. You’ve made it clear a long time ago that you’re not coming back to me. But thank you, anyway. Thank you for remembering me.

And if you really must know, I am happy too. Maybe not perfectly, but I do my best.