I’ve got no right to be this angry, y’know? ‘Cause you never did make any promises to me. It was just one of those things. Through thick and thin hell and high water. I just assumed. But I guess you need a vocal ‘til death do us part. Or something like that an altar and a binding vow. But we never loved each other like that. Friends don’t buy wedding rings or houses together. You just, y’know, do what you have to. Heal what you can, where you can and hold hands through the rest of the mess. Friends should be able to forgive each other for wanting a life that is not their own or loving a person that the other didn’t choose or choosing a cause that the other didn’t feel. I was punished enough by the things I chose and am more than conscious of the fact that they were ill and fill of consequence. You don’t need to keep on scraping at open wounds with that sandpaper tongue for me to get that I made a mistake. Trust me, I’m well aware. It was my life that was destroyed yours was only scratched. Lucky maybe. You pulled away in plenty of time. The voodoo had barely begun. I just don’t understand how this happened. I don’t understand how you could misunderstand me so deeply or end up so far away and yet so constantly close. I don’t know how it came to pass that I probably could sit myself down here and open my arms up and wait and I’d actually make it without your knocking or calling or hearing the sound of your voice at the door. The oddest thing is that before you made me feel like the biggest selfish little bitch in the world the idea had never really occurred to me that someone might do something so painful and permanent and absent just to punish another person just to be dramatic and “make them pay.” Yeah, they’ll pay but you’ll still be dead. And that’s just stupid. I see how it happens but I also thought you knew me better than that. You might think I’m selfish but I’ve never come across anything more egocentric than thinking that another human being would take a weapon to their own body and split it like a ripe fruit from wrist to elbow just to spite you. The irony is that you’d never hurt me before that point. I’d never felt real anger or real disappointment or even ever wanted to strike out at your heart in any fashion I had no motive to take my own life just to damage yours. The irony is that beyond all reason I loved and trusted you more than most anyone else I had voluntarily cared for in my life. The irony is that I miss you more than anything else and you’re still right, fucking, here.