23 april 2025 . he was tired of her coming to him when she was bored. she would come over and talk, and she would talk about her lover, or her interests, or her hobbies, or her day. he was tired of talking about those things. he had heard about them for too many years. why couldn't they talk about something else? why wouldn't she ever say she missed him? why would she not say that she wanted his arms around her again, his lips pressed against her forehead? had she fogotten the feeling? he would watn nothing more than to remind her. he wanted to hold her for hours and tell her he loved her. he wanted to say he was sorry. that nobody had every felt like her. that she was the medicine, the missing piece. that he had been wrong. he wanted to promise her a ring. he wanted to promise her a future that nobody else could give her. but why couldn't he? no reason that owed blame to anyone but himself. he had let her go. he had ended everything with his own words. they may have been slurred, and he may not have seen what he was doing with them, but they were his own words and nobody had made him say them. he could not lay blame on anyone or anything else. so he knew he couldn't be so bothered by her lack of feelings for him -- or shouldn't, because he WAS bothered. bothered to the point of tears sometimes, to the point of breaking things, his sorry heart included.
