i wrote a letter to myself ...

... which later turned out to be something - a story, perhaps. it is, in fact, how i have felt - how i feel after earlier this week. turns out it is how i have been able to best express my feelings.

i have been reading it out loud every day, as if ...? i don't know - just as if. i feel compelled to read it out loud. whether it's a story or a letter to myself, it's also over here, which is where i first wrote it out; it's also where i'll tweak it as time moves on. but for now, here is where it is at this evening ...

let me believe

let me believe that it is different
something is different
we are different

it is nearly two years since the last time you chose not to call
even though i believed you because you said you would call,
since i left you a message you chose not to return
even though i believed friendship would prevail,
since a painful moment i brought upon us
even though we have never spoken about it.
i do not have to believe
because i know
that two years ago, we experienced our own grief
when i asked you to remove you - your passion - from my home.
the sadness in my heart went unnoticed
as it was overshadowed by your quiet anger.

let me believe my feelings are different
something is different
you are different

it is less than one year since you chose to e-mail me.
your note? i believed it was a simple, benevolent gesture
even though only you knew your intentions.
i do not have to believe
because i know
that the moment i watched you walk toward my doorstep
was the moment i realized i chose well.
my acceptance of your gesture went unnoticed
as i chose to forego my healing for your companionship.

let me believe that i can heal
something is different
i am different

it is tonight, more than one week since you chose not to call
even though i believed you - just because.
it is tonight, not more than a day since i chose to call you,
as i have done so since, daily.
on this night, i chose to leave you a message,
not reminiscent of two years ago,
because something is different,
we are different.
tonight i asked that we talk, that we share, that we listen.
and on this night, as i recount my sadness, your anger,
my acceptance, your touch,
i remember that i have a choice,
that you have a choice.
even though we may never talk about this,
i accept that you may not call
because tomorrow,
something will be different.

let me believe that i will choose
that i have chosen
that i am different
i do not have to believe
because i know

thanks for letting me share.