Rereading, in between and beyond the lines

Dear pup(yes, I still hold on to that name, that and the others)

I still can’t let go.

I still can’t forget.

You must have forgotten.

You must have let go.

That last call, probably the last of its lot. Farewell to small smiles with silent essayed thoughts behind each expression. Goofy grins replacing words in a conversation, clandestine connections held fast in wee hours. Jesting jokes, truthful talks, confessional conversation.

Now, we are merely strangers. Mutual friends stringing us still, but still distant beads never to meet when the chain is clasped together, end to end. People wonder what went wrong, their questions linger in the air, cold as the cut off.

I never knew. I will never know.

perhaps it was a change of heart.

but for one so heavily poured on, it must have taken considerable thought to just excise it.

You remain closed off, an implacable wall face.

Maybe behind the doors you feel the same turmoil.

I really hated you. Perhaps I still do, in my childishly petulant way.

For leaving things hanging, for depriving me of my chance at answering.

it may be for the better.

I’m tired.

of instinctively perking up and noticing your presence.

Of naturally wanting to gravitate over to you. Those times

of easy laughter, guileless joking.

They took down the walls of guardedness.

Now that you’ve fenced yourself off, I hit the barbs.

I know it’s fruitless waiting,

fruitless hoping

fruitless loving

fruitless wanting.

Back then, I was already resigned to seeing your retreating back,

accepting of your occasional distance

your grasping need for comforting contact.

When I see the same retreating back with the knowledge that it will never turn back for me again,

I still. and still. and still.

perhaps something was never right to begin with,

with our conflicting personalities, I should have seen it early on.

Your boisterous laughter but reclusive retreats.

My easy smile but heavy thoughts.

Your inability to adapt for others.

My inability to adapt to you.

Anger and hurt scrabble at my heart and beg for the throne.

But I refuse.

Your heartfelt secrets are mine and your other confidants to safeguard.

Your words back then are mine to hide.

The rest may never see that side of you.

the side that quietly holds hands, knowing and assured (or was it, also a facade of yours?)

we both have our secrets to keep, your story more tragic than mine.

all those repetitions of complete excision from these memories still fail.

I now hold them closer and breathe in their precious moments as I go through their present renditions. Your company reduced to a shadow.

On account of the happy times,

on behalf of what you have done for me

as a friend at least, I

want to see you do well

see you happy

see you wrest control from your devils and banish them.

I may no longer be privy to these things

but.

I reread these pages again, especially the last chapter.

no sequel-finito.

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