Muck

We are all full of shit, and brime, and muck. I know that I am. I know that you've seen it.

I hope you are okay. I hope that one day you will embrace the shit and the brime and the muck and embrace it as part of you, as something that can be transcended, as something that you can acknowledge and move past, and not hide.

I saw it, and it was hard to see, and it was hard to not react angrily to. It's hard to see it in myself, too.

But it's there, and it's not going to go anywhere.

I know that I did this. I told you when you left that we couldn't be friends, but I stayed because you told me what I wanted to hear, and I wanted to be needed. I did this because I MADE it happen. I said the things I said because on some level I knew they would make you go away one day. But I bitterly, bitterly regret that it had to be THIS way. I bitterly, bitterly regret being hung up on in the middle of pleading for more words, for at least some sort of pleasant goodbye. Those memories will be with me for a long time. I bitterly, BITTERLY, and disdainfully regret not knowing my own worth, because now I feel like I'm back at square one.

You are not a bad person. You have done a lot of bad things, and I have said a lot of hurtful and harsh things to you, those things I am sorry for. And I am becoming more and more at peace that I am not going to get an apology for you leaving the way you did. That I am not going to get a response. I'm told by Tatiana that I cannot contact you directly, because that could be perceived as threatening when someone has blocked your phone number. I'm sorry that I have to become at peace with hearing that, and with seeing your friends and feeling like they have nothing but hate for me, and you probably feel like that, too. I have to become okay with that.

I regret that I wasn't able to be the friend that you needed. But it never would have been possible for me.

I will become okay. I will address the things in my life that I have needed to take a second look at for three years now.

I am going to put this away now. I hope that one day in the future we can talk about this. I'm sorry this is a letter.

I'm just not that good at poems.

Love,
Sam