exuent

HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO ME.
so why was i angry at him as if he did?

why am i still angry?

what ties does he have to me? what right do i have to think that what he did was wrong? it was his choice. he did what he wanted instead of what was best for a friendship, and he lost that. he also lost the miniscule amount of respect that i had for him at that point.

but it wasn't like he fucked me over. he doesn't care what i think. he obviously didn't care what his friend thought, either, but he's not berating himself because of what I might think. good lord. if he did, i would probably get a little drunk on that power.

as it is, i do have a kind of power, but only the power to just walk off and leave this as it is. countless times since i learned of this, i imagined confrontation after confrontation i would have with him when we were alone--until i realized, we have not ever been alone, together, since that night so many moons ago. we would have no reason to be alone. and i would have no reason to confront him on this, because this is not my battle. i was watching the one on this hill, and mistook myself for still fighting the one on my own hill. but what do i have left to fight?

i have nothing.
i have no more weapons, no more energy, and whatever enemy i conjured up has no more interest. i was hurt, i dressed my scars, i broke camp and moved on.

but apparently, there was still some grain of dirt left in the wound that worked its way into my bloodstream. i, honestly, didn't notice it until this point. (if i hadn't regressed to the shiny toy guns this past week, it would've been made less apparent.)

if i want power, i need to pull the bond taut by walking away, and keep walking until it snaps, and keep walking. i like the word "cordial," and i'll use it when i talk about you, and apply it when i happen to talk to you, if that should happen at all, again. this has been the last straw and, ideally speaking, a long time coming, but it couldn't have come at a better time, i think: long enough to let me grow and thicken my pearl-white hide, and not so long that i would have gone on still thinking you were a perfectly amiable person.

i am done with you, and after i am done writing this, i am officially (yes, every other time i announced this was unofficial) washing my hands of you. you are not a problem i have to wrangle with anymore--you are not my problem.

you are (on) your own.

-d