It's been so long since I've written to you. Almost three years now I think. And yet every month, waiting patiently in my letterbox is a brightly colored envelope with my name scrawled on it in that handwriting I know almost as well as my own.

And every time a letter arrives, I read it once. And then twice. And then again.

And somehow the enormity of the gap between does not seem so large. The differences between us, the changes that have occurred in me since you left, the drastic changes of character and the significant events in my life suddenly don't seem quite so menacing anymore. And somewhere deep inside of me, in the part of me that knows I owe you an explanation, there's a voice telling me that it's time I finally wrote, came clean so to speak, and just hope that you would understand.

And every time a brightly colored envelope arrives in my letterbox, that same part of me hopes with every ounce of my being that this will be the time that my reply will finally make it to the Post Office.

That you would hear. That you would understand.

And so, without fail, I take my pen and write. And without fail, all of my replies end up in roughly scrunched balls in my waste paper basket.

How can I explain after three years that what I once believed I believe no longer? How can I explain it to you and expect you to understand? You've built your entire life on this set of beliefs. And just as I could not hope to understand why, you could not hope to understand why I've built my life on another set.

Three years can be a long time. It can be an eternity. It's certainly been time enough for me to have what I once believed crumble beneath my feet. And it's been time enough for me to rework my beliefs.

And rebuild my life.

So much has changed Cath, and sometimes I wish it hadn't. Sometimes I wish things could be the same as they were three years ago. Sometimes I wish that I could be wrapped in those old beliefs and feel safe. Safe, because it was all explained and it was all reasoned out for me. That I need never search for a purpose behind it all, because there was always someone else taking care of it all for me.

But things happen and sometimes our eyes are opened whether we want them to be or not. Sometimes they're opened even when we hope against hope that they would remain closed.

I never really believed, Cath. I just wanted to.

And eventually I reached the point where I couldn't deny the fact any longer.

I can't expect you to understand Cathy. I can't expect you to see it from my point of view. And in a way, I wouldn't wish you to. You made your choice and you followed your beliefs. And I've made my own decision and followed mine.

You chose to believe in a God. And I chose to believe in people.

And in myself.

I know you were only trying to save me, Cath. But I don't need be saved anymore.

I am.

Love always,