I told myself I wouldn't write, but it doesn't count if I don't send it, right?

I was up early and I couldn't sleep and I won't be going down to the kitchen bake something like I used to, so I don't know what else to do with myself.

I wished for nothing more than to be able to wish you a happy birthday today like I normally would, I even found a new recipe to try, but I can't and it's all my fault and I'm sorry. What I wouldn't give to take it all back, to apologize until you believe me, but I can't do that either. Some days I have to walk away from my desk to make sure I don't write to you; it still takes a conscious effort even months later. I've started dozens of letters in which I try to apologize and end up scrapping them into the fireplace so I don't send them.

I am sorry for what happened, but I don't think you'd understand even if I tried to explain. I did what I thought was best, even if it doesn't seem that way. I still can't even say with complete conviction that what I did was the only solution, but it was all I could think of. I hope someday you'll understand.

Happy birthday.