Her Life
She doesn't call me anymore. Nor does she answer when I call her. I'm not sure why. Perhaps she thinks if she stays away from me, she won't have to answer my nagging questions. Questions that only brush the surface as to what the hell is going on at her house. That's what I'd like to ask her, but I have too much respect for her, for what she should mean to me at this point. So, I let her behavior slide and sweep my questions under the carpet. For now.
Some day, I plan on pulling out those long-buried questions, shake the dust and crumbs off of them, and present them to her, all tied up in a box with a butterfly on it. I'll expect answers, but I know that even then, the answers won't come. Because they can't come. And I'll be left in the dark, wondering about all the reasons that lurk beneath her behavior.
The only action I can make now, is to march on with my own life, and let everything else go. It's her life, not mine. She's taught me that lesson more times than I can count.
Some day, I plan on pulling out those long-buried questions, shake the dust and crumbs off of them, and present them to her, all tied up in a box with a butterfly on it. I'll expect answers, but I know that even then, the answers won't come. Because they can't come. And I'll be left in the dark, wondering about all the reasons that lurk beneath her behavior.
The only action I can make now, is to march on with my own life, and let everything else go. It's her life, not mine. She's taught me that lesson more times than I can count.
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