Who's going to light the fire?

I stare at the pile of paper below me. Once filled with words of love and hope now fill my heart with dread.

Betrayal.

That's what they mean now. They make me doubt myself, which isn't something I do often. Were they always lies? Or had deception twisted them into the heap of disappointment I see before me? Had he never loved me? Had it all been a lie? I certainly had loved him...still loved him.

We had been happy once. In love once. I was a year younger than he, which eventually led to separation created by different schools. Leaving me at high school while he traveled on to the college life. We said our goodbyes and he was off.

It was a difficult time, but I believed we could make it through. I certainly loved him enough. And I was convinced he felt the same.

How very childish of me.

He was about to go traveling abroad. Doing good for the world. I was so proud of him, even when he told me he wanted to talk less so the separation would be easier. I was too full of love and adoration to feel anything fishy going on. Even when he stopped replying all together.

No more phone calls. No more texts. No more emails. No more instant messaging. No replies. Only his infrequent social media updates let me know he was alive. I asked why he wouldn't speak to me. Only emptiness answered.

I began my painful, spiraling journey into depression. What had I done wrong? Did he not want me anymore? Why wouldn't he talk to me?

My answer came one fall morning.

A mutual friend had gone to bring him a few things from home he'd forgotten. I wished her well with her travel and the day ended normally. Full of despair and heartache. It was the next morning that everything finished falling apart. I was not woken up by my alarm clock, but by numerous texts asking if I was ok, and telling me to hang in there. I scrolled down until I read the message that made the tears come. He had been seen with another girl. Not just near another girl. With another girl. He had been cheating the whole time.

There were not words to describe the emotions I felt. Grief and anguish come very close. Eventually I was numb. I felt nothing, or so I convinced myself. I couldn't, however, seem to stop myself from thinking about him everyday. They were painful thoughts but I loved him. I still did, even after he had done what he had done.

After many months, I was finally persuaded to move on. And according to many girls, who had obviously gone through similar experiences (And were obviously still harboring feelings of anger and loathing.) I needed to get rid of anything that I connected to him. Clothes were thrown out, messages erased, pictures deleted. Now all that was left were the letters that lay before me.

I knew I needed them gone. But I could not muster the rage that would drive me to do so. Only grieving love filled my soul. They needed to be burned, but who was going to light the fire?