Your Jettisoned Heart
You’re right, of course. I fucked up, and I know it.
In her head, she’s started the letter at least a dozen times.
And I guess what you’ve always said is true. I’m not very good at understanding other people’s feelings.
In each version, her wording changes slightly, becoming a little more helpless. A little more hopeless.
As I struggle to understand, the bigger question then becomes: Why I haven’t been able to admit any of this? To you, obviously, or even to myself? Where would I be now if I could have just admitted it?
But then… when it comes time to put pen to paper… pride and stubbornness again take over.
The more time passes, the more I see just how much I lost.
The letter will never be written. Much less sent.
