I might be wrong

Still, I'm not gonna ask you to stay. I'll just say, go on. Get out of here. Instead of begging you to stay at least one more night with me, I'll just say you're letting your life pass you by. Would I want that for you? Hell no. I just can't say this words to you, staring into your eyes. But then again, would it make any difference? We always wrote letters to each other anyway. We never learned to say things directly to each other's face. We never spat our shit out. We never yelled at each other. We just read ourselves. I still have your first letter, you know? When you asked me out. It's not even a legal piece of paper, it's a napkin. Just a napkin. From you to me, with a "friday night, coffee and cigarettes in my rooftop" written on it with a red magic marker. It's a good memory. So maybe when I grow up I'll show it to my kids and tell them the story behind it. But even with that being said, I'm still not gonna ask you to stay. This last week I've been up every single night. Either my insomnia's coming back or something. It's not the caffeine, cause it's never had that effect on me (lucky me). I have this sixth sense that tells me something will happen. I think it's that. And for the past seven nights I've been putting some thoughts together. And it happened. You didn't even need to tell me, I already knew. I warned you in the first letter I wrote you: I'm a witch. A bitch too, sometimes, but mostly just a witch. I have superpowers without the need of a wand. But I'm also human (not that witches aren't really humans), so I make mistakes, so I might be wrong. Although I wish I am not. Besides, as you're reading this, you're on a train, which means I was not wrong. Which also means I kept my promise. You're on your way to Nomansland, probably. Since you never told me where you were going I just assumed it, because that's where you truly belong. Home is where your heart is, they say, and that's where your heart is, it was never with me. So I was not your home. And now I realize I was right when I sang Nowhere Man to you. But see? I still kept my promise. The one I wrote on your chest with a blue eyeliner the day after we first made love. Look out the window. You don't see my reflection on it, not even if you could imagine it. Which wouldn't be a hard thing for you, since you're the one who invented all those amazing places where you used to take me to all the time. And you wrote them down for me and put all the pages in a folder and put it under my pillow before you left. And I loved it. And I thank you for it. But still, even if I'm still in love with you or you're still in love with me, go on. Live your life. Have it your way. Hell, I'll even yell "fuck off" at you if you need me to. If you want me to.

Write me back only if you think you kept your promise. If not, then don't do it at all.