The problem is that we both made mistakes.

I’ve never been the type to own up to them right off the bat. I find it awkward and sometimes too far off, raising a problem when ignoring it was all you probably needed.

The thing is I still think about it. You’re not a idiot; it’s pretty obvious. I think you’re amazing and that won’t change no matter what this manages to morph itself into. And in my opinion, it doesn’t need to. But I think about the song, I think about the poems, I think about the unfinished story rotting because I’ve lost what motivated me to complete it.

A story is a what-could-have-been right? When we daydream about our futures, daydream about bravery and acceptance and victory, it’s just a fantasy story of our lives.

Sometimes I just have to write it down to make sure I don’t lose it. Don’t forget it. Understand that once upon a time, I was such and such.

People say in the future, they’ll look back and laugh.

I won’t laugh; I’ll understand. Perhaps not why, why you, why this time, why so silent and why so demanding but I’ll understand the circumstances. I’ll understand what drove me and what tore it apart.

My entire life’s story out there for everyone to see. Sometimes I feel so exposed. It’s weaving together assumptions that are sometimes so out there, right in the open. But that’s okay, because even things I write a month ago, I no longer understand. I don’t know whom I was so pissed off at and what made me write a passage on loneliness. I don’t need to.

It’s all in the moment.

& It’s not so much that we lost it, as much as we left it behind. Or one of us did and is unwilling to own up to it.

But I try. Only sometimes when I am brave enough.