Tomorrow

Do you remember what tomorrow is?

You always forgot what day it was. You always had to be reminded. But I didn’t mind. The day doesn’t mean to me what it means to others. I enjoy the excuse to get together and have good times. That’s all that mattered…and still matters to me.

It’s funny because it was a year ago tomorrow when it all started to end. I knew that the day would probably come, but this day was the day I had to accept it. I had to accept that for you out of sight was out of mind. I wasn’t worth the cost of the phone call.

So many times I needed to hear your voice; I didn’t care what it cost. All I cared about was talking to you. If I had told you how much I cared, would that have made a difference? Would you have cared more? Or was it always too much work for you?

I tried to forget. I really did. I pushed it so far out of my mind I couldn’t remember how it all fell apart. I don’t know what made me do it…look for you. Now your very public life without me has become almost an obsession. I go back and look one or two times a day, sometimes more. I try to make myself stop but I can’t.

Looking into your eyes again reminds me of all that we have lost. And for what? I started to blame myself.

Maybe I was asking for too much. Maybe I should have given you another chance. I had pushed the memories so far back I couldn’t remember. Was it me? I had to know.

I pulled up the letters that led to the final silence. I reread every detail. And then I remembered. I gave you a chance, more than one. But you blamed me. It wasn’t my fault, yet you blamed me. I gave you the key to get back in, but either you didn’t recognize it or you ignored it. That was your last chance. I don’t think we can go back. You proved I wasn’t worth it to you. But if not me, then who is? Who could ever be worth it more than I was?

So here I sit, knowing that I did all I could. Knowing that you didn’t. And I wonder. Will you remember what tomorrow is?

Sidenote: I just realized it was 2 years ago...how time flies...

Reunion of torture

Why do I keep going back? Ever time I look in those eyes the crack in my heart gets wider. It's like you're rubbing your happiness in my face. "See what I can have without you", you smiling face mocks me. The other part of me thinks your being so public because you are waiting for me to comeback, waiting for us to reunite, you want me to keep up so that I don't miss a minute. Deep down, I know that you probably have no idea how public your life has become.

The reunion that may never happen plays over and over again in my mind. Sometimes we forget everything that came between us, and just fall back into the good times. Other times we fight, cry, yell and shout. We let everything go, and put everything on the table. And then there are times when we pass eachother like we didn't see the other. This is how I think it will be.

We got too close, you hurt me too deep. I will always wonder why I wasn't worth it. Why you couldn't muster up the energy to care just a little more. I gave you so many chances, but you just didn't try. Maybe I should have shown you how much I cared, how hard I tried.

At the end of the day, it was me who ended it. I'm the one who walked away. I hoped that you would call me back, run after me. But you didn't. You just got angry and walked away. I doubt you even looked back.

Funny thing is I shed the tears of this moment a year before, knowing that it would come, hoping it wouldn't.

Someone is reading your letter

I often wonder what makes a person think that it is ok to treat a stranger like crap on the bottom of their shoe. I have had a fairly wide range of experience with this, but tonight I'm going to rant about the people who send abusive letters to a non-profit organization.

To start, for those of you who address you letters with "Gentlemen" or "Dear Sirs", I'm not sure what era you grew up in, but news flash woman are allowed to work now, and we can read, so on occasion they do let us open the mail. Next time if you'd like to be formal, try "To whom it may concern", and I'll try not to send my reply to "Crazy old person with too much time on their hands." I'd love to say that I was too mature, or confident to let this bother me, but obviously I am not.

And if you’re one of those people who thinks that things get solved when you write a letter full of insults and profanities... do you realize that the people who have to read these abuses are the people who have no control over the paper they write one, much less the letters you get, or the decisions made that you disagree with. When you write such hateful things I wonder if you realize that there is another person at the other end of your letter. When you put it in the mail it doesn’t just vanish into the abyss. I have to read it and wonder who else you would talk to that way.

Finally to those who send us things back full of complaints but with your name ripped out, we can’t help you if we don’t know who you are.