Closure (or a sense of it)

Today was it. The ghost of your past has finally returned from three months of pain, suffering, and hurt. My friend summarized you to me: “a man who willingly cut off ties with an amazing young woman who, even with all his faults, she accepted because she loved him for who he was.”

I don’t care if I was what you needed, I never claimed that. I never said you were a superhero, because I wanted to save you from your distress. I thought I could, but now, the strength that came from bearing your cross with you has gone away, like dust.

You had a choice to be the person that could wholly accept who I was, to be the person that proved everyone else wrong when I wanted to. You had the choice to be the difference in the eyes of the people who thought you were crass, insensitive, and obnoxious. Of course you were, but how was it that you were so kind to me? That is a question I will never know, and for once, it’s okay.

I saw you out of the corner of your eye and for a while, I thought that I would fall apart like I did the first time you cut off the bridge between your world and mine, that I would break down and force you to give me the reasons why you did.

But instead, I looked straight down the road where you weren’t at the end of it and I realized that I was happier than when we met again for the first time in years. You had a look of pure shock that I choose not to ponder on, except to assume that you were surprised to see me there.

Tough luck, like you could get rid of me that easily.

The point of it was: we go through several deaths, but that doesn’t mean the ghosts of them are gone.


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