The truth is, I’m not better. I always declare myself better before I actually am. Like saying it makes it true. Like living that lie, while parts of me weep and wallow, while some thoughts still wreck me and leave me weeping in public spaces is somehow the path out instead of in.
I still think about what I did wrong, even if it’s the nothing you said. I think that I should have said, let me help you work it out. I guess the only explanation I have is that I felt like you had withdrawn consent. Which means, to me, full stop. Accept and move on.
Maybe I’m supposed to chase.
And while I tell myself I don’t, I do. But not when I perceive consent is withdrawn. In that case, I am a man on the shore, forever waiving to the ships that only dock seldom, and always, always leave.