If you were really sorry, you would reach out and express that unabashedly.
I am well aware you have my original contact info. I was put into a strange, contradicting situation.
You glanced at my hair strands in the bath tub’s basin and asked if I was stressed. You took note of my body shaking, how I could not formulate words without a mousy understudy in my lungs, and you pondered my wits. All I needed was a kind word from you, not to be made fun of by multiple people and contorted into a loose end that was finally able to be discarded into the bale.
I Genuinely. Love. You.
You allowed everyone else’s judgement and outside regard dictate what could have happened…knowing full well we would have been more than fine in the future. We both, kindredly avowed, have our disturbing, unfiltered and maddening egresses, but you were intimidated by mine for what I represented in you. Decide what you long for before you are caretaking more fabrications because you wanted to tread the safe route and not be construed by my past, or current endeavors. But…I am sorry. You have suffered enough. No apology would caress the place where you grieve, and I force that by clutching what may not be there at all anymore at the level we met at. If you ever do return as a friend…I will welcome you as if we never existed beforehand, open bosom to boned turnstile, letting my heart empathize rather than cognize the rational inflictions.