where the rest of me lives

and reading those notes all these years later i still know i was the wrong one. i am the villain in your story, and really truly i do think it’s deserved.

but i can also see how young and naive i was now in a way i never could have understood then. barely 19 years old. no developed frontal lobe. battling through all of the religious conditioning about how a relationship should work and look. realizing how much she couldn’t see through hormones and social pressures and the anxiety and depression. realizing how tight she held on and wanted it and loved you when everyone else knew the relationship was wrong.

she was still in the wrong. she made bad choices. but i have compassion for her too.

so this is my apology for her. for me. for how we hurt you and will likely continue to do so as long as we exist. i am sorry we are that part of your story. i’m sorry that i was an immature girl, who didn’t know how to communicate outside of the manipulation. who made choices that hurt you.

i wonder if you’re okay. if you’re happy. if you’re doing better.

i wonder if i’d been more grown up, more mature, more laid back, if we could have stayed friends

what if i could have been more?

i wonder if i could’ve just been less intense, less neurotic, less insecure if we could have worked it out

what if i could have been less?

i wonder if you’ve forgiven me or if late at night you’re still cursing my name

i wonder if you know i still think about you all the time

He looked at her with fire