Not Out Of Guilt But Compassion .

You still don't understand why it was that I took off in the first place, why I had to, what it would have meant for me if i did not. You don't see ur part in all that happened, either, not at all, nor any of the reasoning or feeling that drove me to do what I did.

All you see is my fault.

That's easy, of course. It's so obvious.

Yet if I know anything, I know this, my former boyfriend: You've got to understand more than you do right now if you're ever going to get over to the other side, to the place where there is light and heat and a fresh sunrise every day. And I want that for you to.

But I can't really tell you, you know, not straight out, face-to-face, like I should. We'll fight again, and then the darkness will set in on both of us. Me, I never want to live in that place again. Instead , I'll write it to you here, for both of us. Because part of me will never truly be happy until you are again. So please listen...

I left because when the wind blew in the trees, it blew cold and rattled in my bones, and when I turned to you for warmth, I found too little. Perhaps I didn't turn the right way; maybe I should have done that differently too. But in the end, some crucial part of me went off on its own, searching, searching.......

I left beacuse when we went shopping, you never understood my style. You always had something to say. I felt like everything u wanted me to do was censored to your liking, and that is no way to live....I need to live freely.

I left because if we talked about it, you'd maintain your position stauchly and finally convince me that I was being ridiculous, vain, or selfish, or foolish, or mean, or whatever u needed to say to win the fight.

I left because there developed, without me really knowing it was happening, a kernel of resentment, alienation, and loneliness that sat inside me always as I moved through my daily life, working, talking, with people. working, and always searching, searching, in secret, for something else, some other life, some other road to a kind of happiness that I thought, perhaps, might exist for some others, wondering why that could not be me, or if--- even more terrifying---it could.

I left because when I saw two people kissing on a city street, it hurt me. Assholes, I thought. Kissing out in public like that. Why dont they get a room?

I left because I could not stay and live.

I left because I was dying. Not metaphorically. I saw myself on a train platform, one hand clutching my left arm. Or was it my right? It doesn't matter. The image haunted me persistently. Now it's gone. Today when I think about the end of my days, I see myself at the age of 90, a shriveled bean, walking on a beach somewhere. The sun is setting. I am happy and looking forward to dinner.

I left beacuse there is no other life than this one that we are given, and to live it as if it belonged to someone else, no matter how beloved, is wrong.

I left beacuse you would not change that deep part of you that none of us can change, the who of who we are, the part that dreams at night, that needs to order the world in a certain way.

I dont blame you for that. It's very hard, and part of you has to die in order for it to happen. I know you will say I never reallly gave you the chance. That may be true. It feels to me like a gave you the chance every day for a long, long time.

I left because that part of me that was unmoored was an unmanageble beast, roving like a predator through the world, hunting for something to feed itself. I could never understand it.

Now I know what it was. It was my heart.

I left beacuse I was faithful to you and it did not feed that thing that was inside me until it would not be satisfied with anything but true love.

and yes, I left you beacuse my whole, hungry heart was unavailable when the right person came along, and I found that person who saw me not as a girlfriend to be managed but as a woman, not even as a woman,no, but as a wondrous being of infinite interest and worth, who liked the way my skin felt when he touched it. He touched it absently, without knowing he was doing so, with the tip of his finger on the back of my arm, not for any purpose except that something inside of him felt good when he did so, and something about that moved me so much that I literally felt the disconected, roving, ravening thing inside me turn over on its back and, for the first time, meld into the rest of me.

I left because you didnt really love me. No, no. Not really. I know that now. And thats all right.

But not really.

I didn't do it well, I know. I didn't leave the way one is supposed to to, by talking things out and fighting fights that should perhaps been fought long ago, or rekindling that which should have beenunkindled, or fessing up, or leaving everybody their dignity. I lied. I went behind ur back. I held myself apart and pursued my own destiny, as I had been doing for a long time. Couldn't u see that?

And so now I will say what I have to say once more, not for the last time: I'm sorry. I wish a lot of things. But I dont and I can't unwish my happiness-no, maybe not that; I can't unwish my chance at happiness, at life, at a true life where no part of me is left to wander and wonder and crave some mysterious thing it does not have.

I left beacuse I had to. And now? Now you must leave me. Not in hate, not in anger, not even in regret. Leave me for the life you should be living, with somebody whose heart u wholly own and who owns yours. Maybe then you and I can reclaim our memories. We have, after all, so many. And in spite of why i left, and all I left, they remain sweet to me.

Those I will never leave behind. ♥

pennanddpaperr.