Of course I noticed you’re gone. I knew when you closed the book, so to speak.
Did you think your absence would go unnoticed? Seriously? It’s you. As weird and bizarre as this sounds, having you back in my life was a big deal. And I can’t explain it.
But, you didn’t even say goodbye.
I’m trying to tell myself this had nothing to do with me. And I can’t contact anyone to see if you’re okay without making this more awkward. You already probably think I’m a stalker. Maybe you thought my last message was sort of creepy.
Remember, I’m a reporter. I’m naturally curious.
Maybe you found someone, and you didn’t want the constant memory of a former flame. I understand. But it’s not as though we’re close anymore and stuff, and that stuff.
Look, I’m sorry if I ask too many questions. I’m sorry if I’m a pain in the ass. I’m sorry if you found out about these posts and you’re hurt. In hindsight, maybe I revealed too much, and you feel betrayed. And I’m sorry if I can’t express what I finally learned while writing them. Years later.
I’m sorry if you don’t want anything to do with me, and you didn’t know how to tell me.
Since you closed the book, I’m banking on the last one.
At least we’ll always have midnight.