You see, I got hurt.
I expect I thought you needed me. I am a sucker for someone who shows just a little caring. Then when you were dying, I knew. Your death ripped my heart out, maybe because we had not gotten to know each other better before you went. Time might have changed our relationship in ways I would not have liked.
Speculation serves no purpose. I will never know in this lifetime, yet the questions sometimes eat at me.
Because I could not let go, I am faced with new problems. I think or hope I am someone I am not.
The life I have right now is not living. I take my meds, eat, wash dishes and sleep. I do not hear a human voice unless Connie calls. And I see Boopie and the Youngin' every other week. People I thought were friends got caught up in their own lives. I do not begrudge that and I do not lay blame at their feet.
It is far easier to hide in my apartment, wear my gown all day and not interact with anyone. If I do not talk to anyone, I will not get hurt. Yet no interaction hurts too.
I miss you terribly, Dude.
Later.
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