I don’t really know where to start. So I guess I’ll start …
… here. Mass confusion, upheaval. I’ve lost my sense of self that you’d become so integral to. I liked that me, I liked that us, I really, really did. And what now? Another long drive, alone, across the country, a repeat of not yet two years ago.
[added 6/30] Edited content. As a writer (of anything) I’ve never been good at editing. What I write is as good as chiseled in stone, for how much I seem willing to change it after. Not always the best policy, I begin to discover. Thoughts were harsh, and what was said was for me – a vent, a rant, a brash and hurtful way for me to get over thoughts I needed to get over. Had they been rational, I would have not held them back from you. As they were, I knew they were just words to get out my system, demons to exorcise. And they were hurtful, and they were mean, and that was never, ever my intention. They needed to be written because I needed to get over some things. On a night where my soul was hurting, I identified the hurt and I thrashed it — not the best approach. Please believe this apology, and that I never meant to be so cruel. [/added 6/30]
It’s 9:15 pm and you just called me on the phone. Voices hushed, like conspirators whispering in the corner, shoulders hunches and darting eyes. Or perhaps just passive voices drawn to sorrow and finality. “This is it then,” I say but not out loud, and your voice seems to nod to an unasked question, but calmly, slowly and I hear the bathwater quake in the background.
Thoughts edited … words withdrawn. Only to reflect the truth, never to hide it. I apologize for harsh words. My dearest wish now: that we remain friends.