I don’t know what to say.
Sometimes I think I’ve imagined it - I think that even now, when I can see the evidence, just a mouse click away.
It still feels unreal.
I don’t know if I can ever reconcile it in my mind. Truth is, I told myself long ago you were never going to speak to me again, and no amount of quiet pleading or anguished ranting would change that.
March third, 2011. The last conversation.
June 8th. The last refusal.
And every day after that was a constant wavering between impatience at my inability to move on quickly, and the fear that you’d haunt me like a phantom until I died.
Even when I found others, thoughts of you still occupied my mind sometimes.
Thoughts of what I did. What was said.
Things I can’t take back.
Memories I wish I could scrape out and burn.
Bitterness and pain and anger and hurt.
And even then, underneath it all, a grudging fondness.
Always like a child, I wanted what I could not have.
Closure. Peace. Civility, good terms, a conversation…
Something that would give me permission to finally, finally heal.
You will likely never know just what that meant to me. Or maybe you do - doesn’t really matter, though. You did what you could.
I just hope your gesture of reaching out to me was worth it for you, ‘cause hey, I will remember it always.
Just wanted you to know.
——And yeah you know it’s true
I was a demon to you
Someone who could say
With no hesitation
Yeah, I was ill when it came to you
I was really unwell
And maybe some part of me will always be
Sort of twisted, just a bit sick
Because that’s what I was when you came along
And that’s what I was when you left
Some fragment of myself
Just waiting for me to become whole again.