Dear Selina,
It’s strange. So much time has passed without so much as a thought of you. And yet, just a moment ago, I decided to Facebook search you. Why? What hold do you have on my conscience? Why must you continue to haunt my thoughts and memories? If there was a modicum of dignity left in me, I would have perished the thought of you.
I celebrated my thirty-second birthday today in a fit of memory. A dreading fear that I’ll die alone. I thought of all the relationships that crumbled. Crumbled either by my hand or my lack of trying. Jeanna pushes me to remain positive, but she’s on fool’s errand. Your presence stands in the darkest recesses of my mind. Your voice is my depression personified.
Every keystroke, I wonder if you will read these words. I wonder if you even care to. Do you still read my stories like you confess? Do you lurk the old tales?
Maybe it’s not you. Maybe you’re only a footnote in this issue. You weren’t my first thought of day. You’re just an epilogue to a bad day. The reason hang my head isn’t you. It isn’t Jeanna. Failure to understand that causes more misery. The fact that I may never seen Jenny again weighs so much on my shoulders. I do my best to accept the outcome. I made a similar mistake with you. Only difference is that you made the same mistake with others. I wasn’t the only person in your life. Not the only person you pulled along. Not by a string, no. Your cruelty required a noose. You dragged me through the muck and mire of your failure to remain faithful.
So who are you these days, Selina? What facade do you wear? Are you still in counseling? Do you continue to take part in an elaborate charade? Continuing to use the proverbial duct tape to mend a broken marriage? Are you still so much of a coward that you need to shatter the shattered?
I wonder what good is writing these letters to you. If you respond, you’ll just play the victim. If you don’t, then I’m an idiot still talking to walls.
Chapin City Blues 