I have to wonder if you'll read this letter. It's been two years. But
it seems we'll be seeing each other at the wedding and there are things
I have to say first.
I suppose you've wondered why I left. Why I left the way I did. And probably
why I'm writing to you now about it. I'm no good with words--that's your
gift--but I want you to know it wasn't you. You didn't do anything to
make me leave. And I left you sleeping because I knew that if you wok,
and looked at me with those eyes of yours, I'd never have the courage
I have to explain now, because I'll never have the courage to tell you
face to face. But believe me when I tell you I was only doing what was
best for you. I hear you're happy with Zechs, so that proves I was right.
You told me once that I didn't have a heart. It's not quite true. I
do have one, it's just not big enough or deep
enough to love you the way you need to be loved. That's why I left. I
could never say "no" to you. I gave you everything you asked for--not
that you ever asked for much--but I couldn't give you the one thing that
mattered most to you.
I remember how you looked at me after we'd been together, begging silently
with all your soul to hear me say it. And the times when I made myself
say it, and I saw the hurt in your eyes that told me that you knew the
truth, and that you wondered what you had done wrong. Wondered why you
couldn't make me love you. I could see that you were tearing yourself
apart to find the answer, but I didn't know how to help you.
What I'm trying to tell you is that it was never your fault. Anyone would
love you. Anyone with a heart, that is.
Relena's not used to being denied anything, and the novelty of the chase
will keep her happy. What I can give will be enough for her. It would
have killed you.
I wish you'd been right, that I didn't have a heart at all. Then it wouldn't
have hurt to leave you--or to lose you.
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