(no subject)

Thinking of you. Hoping you're well. Sorry I can't tell you that directly myself. But I don't like the me that hurts you. And I don't know if I'm in a place to not be that me. I don't know if I ever will be. But know that I would never wish you ill. It's just that I don't know what to do with the pain. You think it goes away, siphoned out of you little by little with time, when the memories don't really hurt anymore, but in truth it's shifted out of sight, going dormant, waiting to pounce not through the past but onto the present. It's not your fault, that I can't get over it, that's all me. But I still remember. I remember.