I've calmed down somewhat. And am now going to write something serious. (I go from hyper-giggly to uber-contemplative. I wonder about this whole bi-polar thing...)
I haven't thought about him in a while. Well, not that way. I've wondered what he's up to, how he's doing, if there are any movies he's thinking about seeing or has seen that maybe I would like, if there's any music as well. But nothing...missing. Nothing romantic, nothing heart rending. Tonight, though...I read this:
"I know in the past I've caused you pain, and I'm sorry. And I'll
always be sorry til the day I die. And I hate this pen I'm holding, because I should be holding you. I hate this paper under my hand because it isn't you. I even hate this letter because it's not the whole truth. Because the whole truth is so much more than a letter can even say. If you wanna hate me, go ahead. If you wanna burn this letter, do it. You could burn the whole world down. You could tell me to go to hell. I'd go. If you wanted me to. And I'd send you a letter from there."
And I wished that I could have sent him a letter like that, right after the us. I didn't wish for him back-I'll never wish that again-but I did wish that I'd never had to wish that, that we were still us, and not him and me. I see things all the time that remind me of him. And most of the time I smile; I no longer regret the time we had together. But tonight...tonight if I saw a picture I think I'd cry. In fact, I think I will.
Laters