After breaking down and giving in, I called you. In tears and sobbing.

I don’t want to be alone.

But after the hysteria briefly calmed, I realized what a mistake I made. Calling you, late at night and crying, would do no good. I was hurting you. You couldn’t come to my aid. You couldn’t care for me. You made it clear you didn’t want that. And I didn’t want that for you either.

I apologized and apologized. That’s all I ever do. It’s the only thing I know how to do well. It’s been ingrained in me to apologize for myself. For causing harm and worry.

In the middle of crying I was sorry, it dawned on me.

This was the day I came back to you last year. This was the day you held me in your arms, gently. Promising we’d get through this. That you would stay and be by my side.

And that night, I sat between your legs on itchy grass, staring up at fireworks with family’s and couples all around in awe.

I was in awe.


I’m alone.

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