I had this narrative all this time that you missed me, loved me even. You made maybe one half assed attempt to reconnect years later (after shit went to hell) and long ago (ten years, but late night and provoked by other circumstances). I guess I’m happy for you that you’ve moved on and that you’re occupied, even though I moved on and am occupied for some time now. I honestly feel unbalanced. I loved you and you wouldn’t have – no, you refused to believe that I could, but you were my refuge at one point. You abandoned me in the thick of things, we both know that, and I’m older and torn somehow knowing how life is now. I want you to be happy but I guess I hoped you’d try harder and if you were too weak to try, I had hoped you’d be alone because you destroyed me. We were both so stubborn then & probably now, and I’m so happy for the life I have now, but we could have chosen each other at one point and we chose to be callous. Honestly, you chose to be callous when I needed you the most. If that doesn’t say enough, I suppose I was right to not confide and stupid enough to think it mattered. It confirms all I felt then. I can’t say I don’t wish you well, but the fuck it hurt and probably the better off we are for escaping.