An open letter to J, who is unlikely to respond

The bruises from your dog have risen, and are fading. The ache our fight left in me has lessened to a souring in my stomach and for that, I am relieved. We haven’t talked in days, and it’s possible we won’t. If we could, I would tell you that I make mistakes all the time, this is not new to me. The nicest thing about being In The Wrong is that The Wrong is a crowded place; you’re bound to run into someone you know there. I have the capacity to forgive, in fact have forgiven you, and I wish most right now that you could do the same.

This life, and where I’ve chosen to live it out, has turned me into someone I hardly recognize. Where I used to be open and warm I’ve become skeptical, hard, and cynical. This is not something I prefer, but something I need to survive here. It’s possible your motives were pure, and that you never intended to hurt me in the only place I cannot protect. It is possible. It is possible that you are genuine, but in the room your silence creates, I can’t put much faith in it.

We are soured by the sour forces around us; it would take a stronger person than I to resist that. I am trying. I am growing older, and I am growing. This will be gotten beyond, one way or another. But at the present, my greatest wish is just that this could be said, not catalogued, that you would hear. Short of that, I am speaking alone in a quiet room, to an audience of none.