The Truth Is,

I'm angry. I'm irritated that you let such minuscule details get in the way. That you validated your feelings with words from golden pages; how unruly. I'm hateful, and bitter. I'm annoyed at myself, mostly. For letting my soul grow so attached to yours, for letting my roots tangle with the seeds of your own. I'm resentful that you're still exactly the same person you were when you left, that I wasted years because of you, for you. So that you could fly back to the birthplace and be judgmental, controlling and vindictive. 

I'm happy. I'm glad that I changed, but even more somber that you didn't. It's ironic to think that we were so much closer when you were thousands of miles away. I'm thrilled that I was able to keep you company when you missed familiar dwellings.  I'm so elated that I was your best friend when you needed me. When Craig died. That was the only time I ever saw you cry, it broke my heart. It's one of those life-altering moments, the kind that I still remember vividly. I'm glad that I was there for you. 

It's strange to wonder: If our souls had crossed today, would we have made connections? It's even more strange to know the answer is no. We're a great pair, but not together, if that makes any sense.

My passions, my beliefs, my opinions, they've been altered from the sixteenth year. I think we needed that separation, that hiatus. I did at least. I needed to find what was essential to be truly blissful. I'm sorry that it wasn't you. The memories are breadcrumbs now.

Please let go. But baby don't look up, the sky is falling.