There will never be another you.

You were perfect, from the day you were born, to the day you died. Absolutely perfect.

You were my whole world, and my everything. I was so in love with you. I couldn’t imagine life without you! I wish I could have you back for one more day of our mundane life together, one more night of cuddling and watching TV and making fun of dumb shows. One more time I wish I could hear your laughter, your wit, your voice.

I’ve done a lot of changing since the day you died. I’ve improved, and grown, and accepted myself more fully, and each day I get stronger and more authentically me. You’d be proud of me, I think.

But you are dead. And dead people don’t come back. But luckily, you were never an actual person.

I created you. You were patterned after my partner, the person I was married to. When they stopped loving me and left, you died. You were an idealized version of them, set on a pedestal so tall that they could never reach the top, no matter how hard they tried. You were a figment of my imagination.

Maybe that’s why they left – they got fed up of being compared to you. No human could ever measure up to you.

There will never be another you, because pedestals are bad for human relationships. You were too perfect, and humans are never, ever perfect. That’s what makes them interesting.

So, come back to me, and give me back the piece of my heart I gave to you on the day you were born. Merge it with my broken heart and make it whole. Merge your soul with mine. You will be me, and I will be you.

And I will love myself.