I have a blog now. I write about everything I have been through in my life so far. I’ve shared some moments between us too. I pretty much share it all. I know you are not surprised by that.
Am I stalling?
I was thinking of asking you to read my next post.
And there’s that laugh of yours. I can even see that smile on your face. No, don’t deny it. That’s a waste of time.
“There it is,” you say like you just found your long lost wallet but what you really mean is, “There it is,” the reason why I called. Why your phone is ringing with a call from your ex wife. Now that you have it all figured out, I can see you leaning back in your bed waiting to hear what other surprises are on the way.
“I want to write about the night I went into labor.” I let this sentence drop from the sky like a foul ball that rolls into the weeds.
“Wow,” you respond.
“Yeah,” I say but I’m not sure if your “Wow” is a “Wow” your impressed? Or a “Wow”, I thought this part of my life was all over.
We have reached out to each other in the past, having polite conversations, sharing a little of our lives, but mostly trading guarded questions careful not to ask or answer anything to intimate, to close to the pain.
You don’t deny my request, mostly because you figure its a losing battle and you made a vow to yourself to not allow me or anything related to me to ever hurt you again. You stop talking.
We are in silence. A silence buzzing with regret, remorse. I think about apologizing but I’ve done that before and most of your disappointment happened before we even met. I think about talking, I mean really talking. Just pouring out. Letting it all spill out so it can be forgiven and maybe one day forgotten. You always called me naïve. You would shake your head at my reasoning, my belief that all things can be worked out.
I hear a lot in the silence. The loudest being goodbye. You have chosen to close your door. Whatever I am going through, you wont be holding my hand.