Sore from dull pain
Naught has ended, at least
I remember.. It was long ago, now...
I called you. I had the opportunity to talk, but pride and pain made my words all wrong- too biting, too whining, too brief. Why did I not say what I wanted to say? Why did I not ask- straight- whether we could patch up our relationship instead of letting it go, suddenly? Instead, I cried and nothing was said or addressed. That was a chance, wasted, was it not? What possessed me through those months, I need not ask. I know what it was. But I wish, so very much, that my problems were recognized and mended before... Before I divided my fifteen years into a time line that reads something like B.N. and A.N.