Sweet Rosé

So I sat in your room for the first time in a very long time. Ever since you first randomly messaged me, I had been dreading that very moment - sitting on the edge of your bed, clutching my bag which held a bottle of Four Cousins Sweet Rose' and wondering whether I was going to say something that would ruin everything all over again.

Of course my mind was just causing me to over-think everything as it usually does but I was not aware, until that moment, just how much fear I had been holding inside of me up in anticipation for this encounter with you. As we talked things flowed and I was able to be chilled and open once I finally got out of my own head. It was weird speaking to you as though nothing had ever been estranged between us but I loved it - I loved being back in that place where you showed a genuine interest in my life and were also willing to tell me about yours. A part of me kept on wanting to ask you 'Why?' ... 'Why did you suddenly want to speak to me again?'. You told me the answer I suppose but I guess I'll never grasp an understanding of it because I'm not used to people leaving and then coming back like you have. I'm not complaining, rather I'm embracing it but that doesn't mean I don't harbor some kind of natural curiosity as to what it was that made you want to talk to me, of all people, again.

After talking to you, I've realized just how many unanswered questions have taken up residence within my mind without my awareness. I suppose though that they are the sort of questions that one doesn't want to hear the answers to... even though what you'd have to say would probably be exactly what I need to hear. It's just so difficult being reminded of all the mistakes you've made and their thorny consequences. There were a couple of times where I felt so sore as my chest and throat pulled tight when you mentioned his name - I spoke of him as briefly as I could manage and then let you say all of the rest because talking about him and even thinking about him to a certain extent puts me on the verge of a depression that I cannot afford to sink into. I know that you'll understand what I mean but perhaps to most I sound like I'm speaking of someone I was once in love with... but I'm not. You know I don't love him like that... but I cannot dispute the fact that I love him so much no matter what any says about me or about him or about the type of friendship we had. I love him - and I know you love him too. So you can understand (I hope) where I am coming from when I say that losing him has shattered me to no end. Knowing that he practically loathes my existence rips me apart every day if I let my mind wander too far in the direction of him. So I don't think about him because I can't stand to live my life as a blubbering, dramatic mess of a girl who once again has let her emotions consume her. I wish I could have brought myself to ask you what he's said in regards to me so that I would know how I appear to him - but I can't do that mostly because of the fear that you'll confirm all of my assumptions about what he thinks. It hurts me so much to think of him hating me when all I can do is love him like I always have... 

I wish I could have asked you every question imaginable... not in the expectation that you would be able to answer them all but rather in the hopes that I would have someone to ponder and debate with about those 'deep, meaningful everythings'. I really needed today - it's been a really long while since I've had a conversation quite like the one I've had today - time spent with you is not easily comparable or equatable to any other experience I would have with any of my other friends. So thank you for today and just know that I'm proud of you always. I love you. I think I'm going to go read your blog for a bit now... (http://www.vividartilante.blogspot.com/ for those of you who don't know)

"Welcome To My World: ***Please leave all judgement and arrogance outside."

--J.