I have this story I want to tell (been repeating it for days and days), about what happened between us. Because now I know more of what’s in your life and a better understanding of why you did what you did when you did. It’s not the nicest story and I do mean for it hurt V. Because if I can blame her for what happened, then I’m less culpable and it protects me from the thoughts that maybe you just don’t care anymore (stupid thoughts because you care enough to react to me every time; if you didn’t, you wouldn’t).
But we both know this isn’t some story that’s going to have a neat tidy ending. This is life, one giant experiment. It gets messy and then we do a bit of clean up and then it gets messy again. There’s no story that will make anything better. It’s the past and it’s time to just admit that it doesn’t matter, only the present. So let me start being present.
I promise I’ll never tell the story. You know in the end I’m kinder than that. In the end, I’ll figure out a way to forgive myself for being human and you for being human and I’ll move forward. Because forward is better than anger.
All my love.