On Supernovas

Nothing about me expected you.

And yet, from locking eyes with you, you felt inevitable. Thanos.

So here I am, cursing your existence. An imaginary creature breathing real air. You were not supposed to be a real thing. I made you up; taking parts and pieces in my mind and crafting the perfect tin man. Yet here you are, flesh and blood and broken and beautiful. Demanding space and time and acknowledgement. Taking attention and turning it into oxygen. Becoming breathable.

I am doomed.

"It is written on the stars."

"What? Marriage has come up already?"

"It has not been discussed or even mentioned. But yes, it has come up."

May my surrender be swift and graceful... However, I'm pretty sure it'll be a cage fight till the end. 

Spoils to the victor.

Let's go.

Dewberry 

Summers Swift Surrender

September 7th.

The entire Summer has past. It was a summer of stabilizing and lessons and trenches. Mental trenches, emotional trenches and spiritual trenches. Which is to say that I fully dug into life. I realized I hadn't blogged in quite some time and I wanted to explore that.

The swift realization came to me that my blog has always been my space to speak and now, now I have friends to talk to, buckets of them. The kind that listen non-judgmentally and respond intelligently. I am not saying that I didn't have that before but I now have it in excess. As soon as a situation comes up I mentally scroll through my rolodex, aka, my contact list and think, "Who is my best advisor in this situation?"

I used to limit my friendships to 5. Here in this place of roots, where they tell me everything is bigger, they've laughed off my number and established a squared base. With or without my consent. But I love it.

I have just enough of all the things that makes life fun.

I am happy.

I am content. 

My soul is at rest.

Until next time.

Onward,

Dewberry

46 finds me...

Openly curious.

At an interesting point. 

Having decided that most things in life are about timing.

Annoyed I went to Colorado. Happy I left. Sad that it's over.

I am genuinely recreating my life. 

It is big and expansive and confusing and simple and wonderful all at once. 

Trying to figure out what time it is for what.

Lacking energy to care about what's trivial.

Calm.

At rest in a restless way.

It's my itchy feet. No matter what I always want to see the next thing. 

At a precipice.

Still me.

A

So That Happened

I had this beautiful analogy about how you can't have 2 stars in a solar system until I fact checked myself to find that you can. Which was disappointing because the metaphor was poignant and hopeful. But I am unwilling to sacrifice my love of science at the alter of art. Ergo, the metaphor dies a swift death. 

To reframe- some things are real. Some things are tangible. Some things are visible. Some things are not. A child splashing in a visible wave blown by an invisible wind can testify that both what you can see and what you can't see can touch you at the same time. 

Love is that. Love is both a noun and a verb. Is is a chemical reaction that can be seen with an expensive machine and a feeling that can't be articulated due to the left and right brains inability to have neuro connections. Say what? We cant's say what we feel and we can't feel what we say. So we grope for words that come close and hope that our energy will fill in the gaps. 

Song of Solomon says that, "Love is as strong as death is. The insistence on exclusive devotion as unyielding as the grave itself." Love is as strong as death is. Death can not be undone. Nor can love. I believe this. Love, like matter, is never lost or gained- merely redistributed. Sometimes, in some cases, the concentration of it is enough to bring a destruction. So the safe thing to do is to redistribute it. Spread it thinly over a large area making it palatable for the masses. Or more accurately, walk away from a thing so powerful that it has the ability to destroy other things that equally matter. A calculated decision to sacrifice the potency of the love to save the lifestyle. 

A good and noble and right and healthy decision. One made with no regrets. 

Mostly because at the end of the day I know. And you know. It is a shared knowledge.

And that is enough.

A

 

Going to Stay, Staying to Go

I Go a lot.

I like the act of Go. Go makes me happy. 

I always have a travel bag packed with my passport and travel documents. As soon as I return from a trip I promptly repack the bag. I am always ready to GO.

I realize I don't dig roots or solidify relationships or make "permanent". Not only does that not matter to me, it also kinda makes me proud. The idea that I am nomadic, able and willing to see the next horizon, next sunset, next people, next place. The globe is my playground. I make my rules and create my life uninhibited by what "regular" people do.

I am remotely smug about the idea that while everyone else' feet are mired in concrete, I've done the impossible and learned to fly. I have wings. The ultimate sense of freedom. 

Now I am in this odd geographic place where people stay for ages. Their roots run so deep that even an act of God, or request from God, doesn't move them. I think that's so weird. The born blind trying to describe color to a child. We are not on the same page and probably will never be. We aren't in the same book. We don't even use the same alphabet.

Which takes me to my relationship. The thing I appreciate about "California" is that he is rooted as an anchor. Nothing tosses him, nothing upsets him. He is dug in, a barnacle. This is his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. This unwillingness to be moved. We are polar opposites in this, which perhaps is a a part of our attraction. His stay compliments my go. His hesitancy balances my rashness. My look-less leaping balances his analysis paralysis. We are both intelligent and able to communicate in a way that is productive and solution seeking. Our personalities compliment each other. 

Until they don't. Until I feel like he's being lazy and he feels like I am being pushy. Until I feel like he's burying me alive in quicksand and he feels like I'm dropping him in the middle of a tornado. Until I get mad and he gets frustrated and we don't even have sex as a way to blow off stream. Then it just feels like we are opposites instead of compliments. Then it just feels painful.

Here is what I don't know- I don't know if this is normal. Does every relationship feel like this? A push pull of no one really getting things the way that they want it. Is this the balance that relationshipping brings? Or is this a sign? Is this the "work" that everyone says a relationship takes?

Side note- I also feel like "Why am I making compromises for someone who isn't even my husband??" I am getting literally nothing out of being reasonable. Why am I being so nice? It's not getting me anything. I pay my own bills. I entertain myself. Anytime I ask for something I am told to take a number and get on the waiting list. I am really unsure of what I am gaining in this situation with this man who isn't my husband and hasn't articulated plans of movement and growth. 

So if we aren't growing why aren't I going?

I don't know. Previously my answer would have been that I like him. We have a solid friendship under all of the complications and jagged edges. Now- I don't know. Perhaps we are only friends as long as I stay in my corner and don't bother him. But that's not friendship. That's emotional manipulation. 

And selfish.

Which brings me full circle.

A

King-Dewberry

 Writers write.

Writers Write

I got the second part of a root canal yesterday. Thinking she was just going to "check" me I stacked appointments and ended up causing the Endodontist to pause another root canal to attend to mine. I recognize that I should feel entitled for that but I don't. I had arrived early and waited over an hour in the chair while overhearing her patiently answer the same 5 questions from 3 family members who's sister/cousin/daughter was getting the same said procedure. I was, in fact, ready to excavate the dental chair when I wondered if I, already having paid for the procedure, would have to cover the cost of the Novi cane that had been injected 30 minutes ago. As I was preforming a cost/ risk analysis the Endodontist made an appearance, her assistant having noticed the grip on my purse tightening after I checked the time. 

This is not a blog about a root canal. But it begins to take shape as a blog about boundaries and expectations. I have been saying, frequently, that as women we set our value. People will give to us what we allow and we have been whitewashed into thinking that having what we are given is better than having nothing. An economy of scarcity. I reject this idea in actionable terms. The idea of waiting the Endodontist out and missing my doctor's appointment was not worth my time, it was not a tradeoff I was willing to make. I was not on her time, she was on mine.

I have recently, categorically, been setting higher and higher expectations about how I will and will not be treated. And let's be frank- I've never allowed myself to be treated poorly. But somewhere in the past year something in me decided to raise the bar. Last year in Puerto Rico I had decided to "call out defecation kindly" which led me on a journey wherein people whom I had previously let get away with being (let's face it) a bit shitty, I began to call on their bullshit. In general, they did not like it. 

I had mildly wondered as I started this process if it would equate to loss. It has yet I do not feel bereft. My observation is that for every person unwilling to treat me well, there were others who were. And the less I cared about my aloneness the more they want to gather around me. Factually- the less nonsense I tolerate the more people seem to like me. I am guessing that when people see someone stand up for themselves it emboldens them to try to do the same- but I don't really know. That's not my journey. 

What I do know is that somehow or another I've ended up with what seems to be a tribe of fierce supporters who don't really know me but seem to love me. It's kinda weird- but it is Texas. Everything is bigger here, perhaps even the capacity for acceptance and affection. 

The real story that I want to tell is about pain management. After part 1 of my root canal the doctor had prescribed "5 Advil and 2 Tylenol every 6 to 8 hours". She recommended starting the dosage 3 hours from the procedure as the numbing effects would begin to wane about then. Fearing the pain, I did as directed. I felt no pain, my root canal was as effortless as clouds on a sunny day.

This time I decided to listen to my body. It wasn't an attempt at bravery, it was a busy day and I hadn't brought the Advil and Tylenol with me. Additionally, I didn't think it was a good idea to drive around  running errands with that much drugs in my system.  By the time I had eaten dinner I could feel both sides of my mouth and the pain wasn't significant enough to decide to chemically manage it. So I forgot about it. 24 hours later I have full feeling and didn't need any pills to manage the pain. Which meant I felt no pain and my life moved forward without the constraints of legal drugs. 

Me being myself I spent about 45 minutes meditating on why this was the case and what I could learn. I realized that the reason one needs a root canal is because the nerves in the tooth are dead. Which means they can't feel pain. I had only been in pain previously because the dead nerves had rotted in my tooth and caused an infection that was quickly multiplying in my jaw. Side note- the smell when she drilled into my tooth to remove the decay was exactly what one would expect- the smell of death in ones mouth. Weird. Anyway, with the nerve rot removed and a flushing of the infection my body literally had no ability to feel pain in that area. What had died couldn't hurt me and keeping it around had only caused me pain. 

Here is what I learned; leaving a dead thing to rot only smells and creates a pain point. Getting rid of a dead thing is fast, painless, and while smelly, easier than one would expect. Relationships are like that. You think that removing a dead one will hurt but really it's much more painful to leave it in than flush it out. Something already gone, a relationship already dead, can't hurt you when you let it go. It just makes room for something else, even if that something else is extra space and freedom. It is your extra space and freedom and suddenly the area no longer smells bad. Having nothing is better than having a smelly rotten dead thing. Both literally and metaphorically.

Perhaps the true art to life is understanding when it's time to let something go.

Pain free-

Dewberry

Lungs full of air

It is quiet. At 9:03 on a Saturday night at the end of August. I sit in my house. The television is not on. The radio is not on. There is no noise other than the low and steady humm of the dryer.

I had a plan to be out tonight. A carefully orchestrated day that included God and peopling and ministering and going out. I got dressed up. Pretty Summer dress and a necklace. I got in the car.  I drove to the aforementioned activity of the evening- Blues, Brews & BBQ.  And then I kept driving. Right back to my house. Ending up right back on my couch.

Perhaps it was the 2 hours of swimming that followed the hour of ministry that followed the 2 hours of meeting. Perhaps it was the steak fajitas. Perhaps it was listening to people talk all day. Perhaps it is knowing that tomorrow I have service and am hosting a picnic, weather permitting, that will require me to be social all over again. Perhaps it is I just prefer to be at home. 

I think that my soul is at rest. I don't feel restless. I think that for the first time in my life that waters that engulf my heart are absolutely still. I have no desire to be anywhere but exactly where I am. That's crazy. 

And peaceful.

And an exhale. 

Tonight, I am on the exhale.

A

Being Pulled Apart

There are some little girls who dream of a wedding day. They have a trousseau and a vision board. Swatches of lace and silks picked out. The groom is as decorative as the floral arrangements. Necessary to complete the ensemble but secondary to the planning of the actual day. They play dress-up wedding. They dream and buy and plan.

And then there's me. The idea of a wedding gives me hives. Literally. The visions of walking down the aisle makes me want to vomit and the thought of FOREVER resounds in my head like Smalls on the Sandlot. I was not built to be caged. 

Unfortunately I also love men and romance and flowers and sex. My dual needs are incompatible. Where does that leave me? Torn.

What do I know to be true in this moment on this day?

Dads are great.

I don't want to be 60 and single.

He is trying really really hard to keep me happy.

I am being unfair in looking for reasons to be unhappy.

Because I love single as much as I love married.

If Jehovah says it's a gift it's a gift.

... the gift was of a woman to the man. 

... the gift was no longer being alone. 

... the gift was not marriage, it was companionship.

I affection him.

Sadly.

A

What I mean is....

 My verbal words are often filtered through a strainer that tastes like fear. Smells like fear. Is fear.

My written words never are. I often argue with you playing both sides in my head. I filter your words through a red-orange fog of self doubt and respond through a bullhorn of defense. The things I say never match up with the things I want to say and I always leave the conversation quite baffled at how my words became so mangled. A train wreck of words from which I couldn't unsay.

I do this often. All the time in fact, with every guy that forces me to slow down and "date". My relationship filter kicks in when it senses my heart is in danger and commences a code red counter attack. I am irrevocably broken. And yet unapologetically brave. Until I'm not.

Fear is not a bad thing. We've all seen Inside Out 1&2. Anxiety is not a bad thing. They are useful things. But then they take over the cognitive control board and before you know it you're saying-

"I'm ready to be done"

when what I wanted to say is;

"Don't give up on me"

Or

"If you're still in my life"

when what I mean is;

"Let's plan a vacation"

My fear filter is vicious. And it is brutally effective. This isn't too say that the things that worry me aren't worrying me. Or that growth and reciprocity aren't vital in any adult life. There is space for those things can be true too. 

I don't know if one day the right person will be able to silence the bullhorn and render neutral the fear or if this is what it will continue to be. 

I know that right now, in this moment, I feel both sadness and relief. And curiosity.

Will you, are you, made to hear me through my words- not when it's easy but when it's hard, when my fear filter is on and doing her best to protect me; OR will you see the fog and hear the bullhorn and remember you've only come for the smoke and mirrors? You just wanted a good show. Only time will tell.

Ahhhhh. The blog. My words are loosed. My soul is at peace.

Dewberry

Gestation

 I haven't blogged in almost 6 months. 

That is amazing. So much has happened and mostly good. 

But like a newborn, I don't want anybody else to hold my baby. 

Hugging it close, I choose Stingy.

A

I love being a writer

I don't spend enough time, or give enough credit, to the idea of my written words. I love writing. I love being a writer. I love the idea of canvassing the dictionary to find the right words to exactly express how I am feeling. I love the fact that feelings can flow through my fingers onto the written page and heal themselves. I love that I can look back months and remember what I have already figured out or years and remember who I was that made me who I am. I love who and whom and words that resonate in all of the recesses of my mouth. 

I love that I can feel something, then I can think it, then I can crystalize it in black and white. I love being a writer. It is who I am. It is what I am. 

Perhaps it is words that are the love of my life. The men give fodder to my real passion. That of speaking my truth and speaking my feelings and knowing that somewhere somehow there is someone for whom these words will reverberate. I never know how my words will end. They think and birth themselves without conscience thought from me. I read them as I write them and I am as surprised as you when they appear on the screen. A locked room in my heart the key to which is a keyboard and the path to which is a blog. All I know is that when I sit down to write I am hurting and tight. When I am finished I can breathe. 

I am usually unaware that I have a demon on my chest when I start writing. The words suffocate it. Every single time.

Things I know to be true:

Spencer still sucks

But my kids like him

My kids have no taste

God is love

God loves me

Jehovah listens

He is trying to teach me something

It is JUST beyond my grasp

I will know it when I see it

Life is better when you focus on love

focus on love

Love-

A

The truth of the matter

It has been one of the worst years on record. I would name it as number 3 out of the top 5 but only because I want to leave space for a number 2 that I may have forgotten or blocked. It's been hell. And I have a lot to say. Let the story commence.

Like all roads led to Rome, all the twisty, winding paths of nonsense lead to Spencer. I would like to blame the women or the idea that he is so broken he just "Doesn't know better" but that doesn't resonate. At some point you have to call a spade a spade and stop making excuses. 

Long story short- I have never met someone who took rejection so hard and acted like such an entitled piece of brass. I've never met someone whose sole goal was to degrade and undermine my spirituality. Never. And I've never seen a group of puppets for whom it worked so well.  It's interesting- the ... I'm just not. Not in my blog. Not in my mind- I am unwilling to give you the power of my energy.

Kill it swiftly. Move on. 

Here is what sucked in 2023- In no particular order (except for the first 3)

Spencer 

Raiza

Elders whose ears are blind

Annie

Dumb kids who make dumb kid decisions then blame everyone else

Maria

But especially Randy

My dad getting sick

Southern Colorado

Page

inTerEsting... When I put my mind to it that's all I can come up with.

Yet here was what was good-

My all you can fly pass

George and Karen

Lucy

Leslie

Australia

The Sydney Opera House

Ada

Angie

Ada cooking me dinners

Angie showing me respect

Shaunta

Shaunta some more

Mari

Selling my house

Pretend retirement

Iris and Jeremy

The beach

The jungle

The preaching campaign

The bible studies- even if they start and stop

Having enough money

The parties, all of them

Workout partners

My kids being ok

The expansion of my family

Making peace with not having ideal sibling relationships

The ability to fly places

The ability to fix things

Cook outs

Family worship projects

Mondays with God

Good works

Elsie

Love- all kinds of love

Travel

61 Flights

My dad 

Lucas Ranch

A new car

Zarainy's visit/move

Not being an asshole sheep

Joli

Francie

When I put pen to paper it was, in fact, a good year. Malachi 3:10. Still. Some more. You see what you focus on. I need to be mindful of my focus. 

2024-

No more man friends

Cultivate the studies

Get the need greater list

Visit the places

Pick one

Move

In the meantime ensure that the letter that follows me is a glowing report

Call out defecation kindly

Take care of my body

Be a good witness

I got this.

A

To be authentic to ones self

 It is first imperative to revert back to published what had been reverted back to draft. I can not erase my year. It is inauthentic to attempt to pretend so in my Blog. It is simply not who I am. It is not who I wish to be.

A

Anthony

 Since we're talking in song...

A

Belly to Belly

I won't do this through satellites, fiber optics and binary. 

You know where to find me.

A

Can We Just Talk?

6 Month Man

 I have dated 4 men in 24 months. 

This is an interesting fact in the world in which I reside. A world where we do not date for "recreation" only for preparation of marriage. Most women I know marry the first man that they date and consider themselves lucky to be chosen. I date all the hot men I know and consider myself lucky to walk away single. 

I date a lot. 

Run it back:

Calvin- Official boyfriend, 35ish (??), Mechanical Engineer, MS. Liked all the things I liked and had the unique ability to get me drunk over the phone. Lots of fun. Willing to go dancing. 

I broke up with him because- he lived with is mom, he wanted roots and I wanted wings, he was cheap, he didn't like to work. And he slept a lot. But mostly because he lived with his mom.

The residual impact- moved to PR. Mostly forgot about him. 

Christian- Technically an ex that stayed a friend and a possible, 40, Chemical Engineer, no spiritual title, makes gobs of money, highly intelligent, never needed anything from me, met my fam, 10 years of history.

I broke up with him because- he's kinda a dick, he was married to work, he was always complaining, he threw his phone and broke it in a fit- I didn't like his tantrum, he owes me money. But mostly because he's a dick.

Residual impact- None really. He's dating now, theoretically. I am happy for him. 

Spencer - We were technically dating, My age, Nurse, Bethel, intuitive, healer, makes connections, listener, makes great cookies, green eyes.

I called it because- Emotionally retarded, poor, poor decision making, didn't make me feel good, has issues with black women (resentment), doesn't read, questionable association, gossip, big mouth but poor communicator. But mostly because he is emotionally unstable and I don't want to live at Bethel. 

Residual impact- I see him all the time so sometimes I think I still like him. He got pissed off and ruined my chances for other theocratic activities. It annoys me to watch him with other girls. He annoys me in general because he was in denial the he liked me but that was a lie. I'm still angry at him over the whole stupid thing. 

Page- Officially "dating". My God I love Page. 30's, funny, emotionally intelligent, loves me for me, chef, smart, sexy af, into sci-fi, into all the things I am into, hot hot hot, thoughtful, articulate, healthy communicator, great with his parents, awesome sounding board, family guy, loves kids, has a lot of love to give.

I called it because- Page didn't go to meetings. But really because I liked him SO Much More than he liked me. It felt one-sided and I loved him too much for that. If he would have liked me just a little more there is nothing anyone could have said at all that would have dissuaded me from being down all day, everyday. 

Residual impact- I planted bombs and ruined it at every turn, He, in turn, cut me out. I still dream about him. I miss him a lot. I am hopeful that over isn't over. But I am working on accepting that it is.

Of all of them I probably would have married Spencer or Page. Spencer would have been the smart choice. But I would have loved Page every day with everything that I have. "No matter how hard I try I run away from love at the end of the night."

The Lesson? I don't know. I wish I did. All I have is the story. 

A

Write It

I dreamt you two yesterdays ago. It was an ordinary dream that was no less than perfect. You were standing, leaving, asking me what else I wanted from the store. I was sitting, talking, with a nameless faceless woman. A relation of yours- mother, grandmother. I am unsure. It was an informal interaction. You going to the store, asking if I wanted anything else. The three of us laughing over the patient tolerance in your voice, as if I kept adding to the list. We both had wedding rings on. You kissed me goodbye, cheek kiss. One that bespoke familiarity and future and past and permanence. I smiled. Then I woke up. I hated waking up. The moment where disorientation becomes reality effecting stabbing pains, heart side, every time.

I dream you often. It always sucks. The dreams so real, so good. The wakefulness too abrupt, so painful. I absolutely hate it.

In my mind I have the perfect reconciliation scene. My daughter tells me it's unrealistic because you just "aren't that guy". I am sure she is right. I am also a hopeless romantic who unfortunately will love you for the foreseeable future. So If I Can't Have it In Real Life- I will do what I have always done. I will write it. At least then I can read it and pretend it's true. 

Cue Words-

"Amen"

I pause and take a stabilizing breath, head bowed for a moment longer to compose myself.  After meetings are always hard. I know that I have to talk to people. I know that I have to put on a show. I know that I have to be entertaining and gracious. And I know that all I really want to do is go home and drink expensive Scotch and listen to Etta James. Going home to think about you and cry has become my Thursday night ritual. 

Head up, deep breath, go. I acknowledge the couple in front of me, saying the customary greetings. Asking the appropriate questions. Smile. Nod. Being gracious. The humm of after meeting conversation drops momentarily and curious, I turn around. My heart stops.

You have just walked in the door. Are being greeted by Max, who interrogates every male visitor he deems as a threat. You pause, smile and apply the charm you hold with precision. Recognizing the name. Listening, laughing but eyes sweeping the crowd.

I wait. Wait for the moment when your eyes find mine. In the meantime I am unable to breathe. None of it makes sense to me. I get you're here. I get why you must be here. But why are you here? I wait. You see me. 

Relief, fear, appreciation, affection- they all collide across your face. I am moving, without conscience thought and before I know it I am in front of you. I unapologetically interrupt Max mid sentence.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, annoyed. 

You smile and your dimples flash. 

"You mean Hi."

"That's not what I mean at all." I am at capacity for words and my eyes begin to burn with tears. In moments I will lose it. Eyebrow lifted, palms up, shoulder raised, I silently repeat the question using body language. 

You, understanding my meltdown loading, enfold me in a hug. 

And for the first time in months, I can breathe. Everything will be ok.

And cut.

Life's Sound Track

 Run it again...

Dewberry

3 am

I find myself coming awake in stages. Aware that I should be asleep but a persistent nagging feeling that something is off. My conscience mind trying to remember what mattered enough to wake me, what dream I was having that caused me to wake. And then I remember it's over. And then I start to cry.

I have cried consistently every night since that morning. At 3am. Clockwork. My circadian rhythm waking me to grieve you. There is no shame in my tears. Just a pragmatic leaking of pain. Sadness is a function of loss. All you can really do is sit with sad and hold it's hand and wait. As blood eventually clots tears eventually stop.   

I don't know what I thought was going to happen. I did not think that you would choose to walk away. Maybe because I thought you cared more than that. Maybe because no one ever has. I dreamt it before it happened. In my dream you text me to tell me that you didn't want to just be friends. As I was calling you to ask you what you wanted, because I was willing to give you the world, I woke up. In my wakefulness you said goodbye. 

It hurts. One part of me is really proud of you for being willing to pick a side. For not putting up with nonsense. For holding me accountable. 

Another part of me is really disappointed in you for being a quitter. For not seeing your part in the whole thing. For treating me like a game. For not apologizing. 

I went by your job on Monday, in fact. I discovered that you had the holiday off. It occurred to me that if you wanted to spend time with me you could have done so any time that weekend. And swiftly behind that realization was the idea that you didn't like me the way that I liked you. I was to you a pleasant distraction, a diversion, nothing material. Meanwhile I was naming our future children. A dichotomy of epic proportions. 

I knew I had to blow it up. I knew it was going to hurt eventually anyway so why not now. And so the rest ensued. 

I do not regret my extreme behavior. I do regret the need for it. I do regret the precipice of love from which I was jerked back. I do regret coming to see you at all. The past would have been better left in the past. I had already dealt with the loss of you once. The resurrection of the feelings that I had for you picked up where they left off, no rebuilding needed. So the loss of you, again, was magnified exponentially. Which is to say it mattered more and hurt more.

The worst part is the idea that while I am up at 3am taking a part an putting together the whole situation in one million ways; I am sure you are peacefully slumbering. Not even giving me a second thought. Toy broken, discarded, replaced. 

this hurts. 

and not even writing is making it better. 

A