You say we’re young, we have time to wander and explore. I say we’re young, we have more time to be together. You say we grew up too fast because of my diagnosis, I say we matured at the necessary speed to handle the real world. You say, I say. We never spoke the same language, we never had the right tune or note. Is that why we broke up? I’ve analyzed the situation from every perspective. I was too enthralled in my bipolar disorder to love anyone, let alone you. And I knew it, since the first day I was told “you have bipolar disorder” in the psych ward after a rigorous evaluation. I knew I couldn’t love anyone because I didn’t love me. But I wanted to. I wanted to love you, that’s all I wanted to do. When my father lost his leg I chose to stay by his side and not go across the globe to see you in Turkey. Was that a mistake? Was that not the right thing to do? I know how you felt about it, I know how you feel about it now. I won’t share those words. But I’ve thought of those days. I thought of my manias and how I treated you like filth. I’ve thought of my depression and I treated myself like filth. I’ve thought of it all. Going back and forth, backwards and forwards through our shared experiences and I lost you. You slipped through my hands long ago and after many years I just realized that I lost you. Is there any way to get you back? We didn’t speak the same language for awhile, but I could learn. You could learn. We could. I want you back, that’s the God honest truth spoken with a prostrated body. I love you and I want you to know that I’m here. Not waiting, but just here. I’ll continue to live my life, and you’ll do the same. You’ll meet someone and so will I. And even on my deathbed I would only think of you. I don’t want that regret on my conscious, I don’t want that stain in my heart when I pass to the afterlife. I love you, and now that I know what love really means I can give you just that. Love.