I got cut and bled on the kitchen floor the last time we were alone together; tiny, irregular circles of blood on a yellowed linoleum. I felt like it was my fault and you tried to console me. Blood happens I guess is what you were trying to say.
We had some conversation. I remember it was serious. Was it about marriage? Maybe. I think so.
I’m trying to remember my motivations for not coming around for the next week after that.
I even had left something; I think it was my wallet. Maybe I was embarrassed about the blood on the kitchen floor. Even though you tried to reassure me that you were attracted to me and that it didn’t matter.
When I did finally get the nerve to call you, you brought my wallet out to me. I assumed you had a woman inside your house, and I just felt the whole thing was awkward. I was probably just being paranoid.
I didn’t come in and I never saw you again until that night at Earp fest.
Do you know that I never really ever stopped thinking about you? Sometimes I remember us being complicated. Mostly I would think about how much I had to come to rely on you always being there for me. I don’t think you ever realized (or maybe you did?) how much I looked up to you and thought you may have walked on water at some point in your life or maybe even as a hobby.
I lived a whole other life when I was with you. You showed me things and taught me things about the world and myself that I will always be thankful for.
Now everything is different. I’m happy that you have in your life what I think you always wanted. I could not have given you this life at the time when you needed it. Now sometimes you act like you want me back, but I don’t think you really do, and you should do us both a favor and stop acting like you do.