my first impulse was to dump my garbage here, as well
my first impulse was to give fate the benefit of the doubt,
because god knows by now I've failed.

and i can logic around or philosophize but the truth is
survival mode was shock and crying
survival mode was shutting down and proportion blowing.

and i was afraid the curtains you would look through in the morning light would be cloudy and gritted opaque, that most of the things i said would be forgotten again, the air of the bars drank our words as fast as we emptied their wells.
The simple, subtle ways we have already pulled away. A good playing hand, folded, for fear of fear itself.
A picture that identifies you is no longer the two of us, changed so quickly from our excited foreverfriends to sad and leaving and replacing with someone who will follow you. someone who can, is able.
and what i had done, too - screaming "fuck you" where those words had never fit into our grooves before. walking out the door with a cold face.

but god, am I sorry. I am sorry to the fullest, for more than one thing, for the simple stream and the flood planes that were swallowed. We are flashy, we are dangerous, we are sometimes, if not always, engulfing and selfish and passionate and loving and destructive and nurturing and hurting and insane. And i love you for all of it, i hope you kind of feel the same.