It was a leviathan climb, but I got over you. It wasn’t quite my Mount Everest, but it was probably my Kilimanjaro. When sorting my emails I can skip right by the folder in which all of my emails from you are stored without my heart skipping a beat. When looking for a picture to upload to Facebook I can skip right by the pictures of us without my heart imploding. When songs of heartbreak and love lost assault me my thoughts no longer wander to you. It’s all water under a bridge made of ash.
What happened happened and there’s nothing I can do to change it. For my part, I’ve tried to make amends. I’ve explained. I’ve apologized. I’ve begged. I’ve pleaded. I’ve made an ass of myself seeking forgiveness you’ll never grant me. I understand what I did wrong, and I’ve learned from it. I also understand why you feel the way you feel.
Despite being at a healthy place (in regards to what happened between us), you have entered my nocturnal subconscious twice in the past week. My dreams and I don’t often get a long. My dreams fuck me up, leave me scratching my head, then flash me with one of those tools from Men In Black, rendering me unable to recall what had happened in my mind’s playground while I slept.
I do, however, recall snippets of the dream I had last night. You, and what I can only presume were coworkers, came into my office at work. I have no idea what you all were doing there. Again, only snippets of the dream remain. What I do recall is the frigidity. You didn’t even acknowledge I was there. It was like you didn’t see me at all, a Patrick Swayze to your Demi Moore.
Then, at the end of our work day, I noticed you had been injured somehow. Again, my dream is unclear. You were in a wheel chair and at the top of a staircase I descend every day when leaving work. I offered to assist you down the stairs and you declined. There was no one else there to help you, yet you still refused my help.
I think the reason I remember this part of the dream so clearly is because I feel like this would actually happen in real life. You actually hate me so much that were you confined to a wheelchair and needed to descend a staircase you would refuse my help even if I were the only person nearby. That still bothers me. It doesn’t incapacitate me any longer, but it’s still hard to wrap my head around the fact that someone who knows me so intimately hates me so passionately.
I haven’t thought about you this much in a long, long time. Were it not for these dreams it would likely be a long while still. I truly hope that wherever you are and whatever you’re doing that you’re happy. I hope you’ve let go of the anger you held for me and others – not for my benefit, but for yours. I hope you find joy in the people you love and who love you in return. I hope your smile still outshines the sun.