I used to have this part of me that I kept from you. It was safe, mine. I liked having that piece of me that you couldn’t reject, like you rejected the rest of me. But then I let you have that too. Now you know all of me, or at least you could if you cared to try. But you don’t really so it’s not like it matters. I doubt this makes sense. That’s to be expected I guess since no part of this thing we had ever has made sense. I wish I could hate you. It would make dealing with your absence so much easier. I wish you didn’t know about this silly blog or anything else personal about me. I mean, it’s not like I really knew anything about you. Age, name, location… that’s about it. I wish I would have done things differently. But oh well.
