Second Week of September
Second week of September and I am asking myself why I feel sadness for the person who had catalyzed my self-abandonment in 2022. I peeked into the small door opening and found the pain you locked away thinking nobody could see. Saw pictures of you, before you became you, posted by someone you used to love dearly before she flew to Berlin.
Why grip onto the fraying threads when there is almost nothing left to hold onto? You were grinning wide in those pictures; what had changed you? Did you feel the alienation of being surrounded by people who didn't put you first? How did it feel like to be the last option months after months?
I don't want to understand this grief, but I am well-acquainted with walking away from someone who is half of your soul. I count my birthdays like the anniversaries of my rebirths and their birthdays like the anniversaries of their deaths. Every year I bought myself a bouquet of flowers; I said congratulations for your rising, now let's start all over again.
Second week of September. I understand you a little bit more.
But my door is wide open, my lights are on. My journals are always there for everyone to read on. You are one essay entry in my dozen, but I am a recordkeeper. I forgive much less than I understand.
So, I stand up and step away from your shadow play. This time I'll leave your door ajar. Perhaps next time someone would take a peek. They would understand you. And they might be enough of a fool to forgive you.