*Sigh*
We're leaving tomorrow.
I'm probably going to stay with L. tomorrow night and go back to my own house Friday.
But I really, really, really don't want to go.
*Sigh*
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
You Can Find Me Where The Music Meets The Ocean
Day Two of the Great Florida Adventure
Today, L. and I went shopping during the heat of the day because neither of us handle the heat that well. After we came in from that, she napped while I did some work. Then, we went down to the beach for a late evening swim. Well, she waded in, and I intended to actually swim some.
But, of course, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I waded out onto the first sandbar, turned around to say something to Laura who was still sitting at the water's edge...and saw a big fucking sting ray behind me, less than six feet away. I'm pretty sure nobody's EVER seen a fat girl run that fast out of the water before.
So, yeah, so much for that swim. I'm not one of those people who's overly paranoid about sharks, but rays genuinely terrify me. Once I bailed out, I just stood on the shore with Laura and watched the tide coming in.
Then, we came in, showered, got dressed, and went to a nice restaurant, which gave me an excuse to put on a cute top and makeup and straighten my hair for the first time in forever. I had broiled grouper with a macadamia nut crust and an orange-ginger glaze. Oh. My. God. I'm pretty sure I heard angels singing with every bite I took. There was also a salad, rice pilaf, and grilled green beans as well. That easily ranked up there as one of the top five meals I've ever had in my life.
After that, we came back to the hotel and put on more comfortable clothes. L. had brought some liquor with her, so we made ourselves drinks. I broke the seal on a bottle of pineapple-coconut rum and mixed it with orange-pineapple-banana juice. (I only had one, though. I have no desire to die from liver failure via alcohol and crazy meds.) We took our drinks out on the deck, stretched out on a couple of lounge chairs, and watched the waves roll in and the stars in the sky.
Apparently, there are still stragglers from the meteor shower earlier in the month floating around because while we only sat out for a couple of hours, we saw about 5 shooting stars. Since we were closer to the hotel than we were last night, I was able to download a star map on my phone as well, which resulted in lots more constellation-hunting. AND I was able to identify Sagittarius as soon as we sat down out there, without the star map, LOL. Yay for learning!
Panama City Beach is actually not my favorite area on the Emerald Coast, but I don't care. I have my wonderful friend L. here with me, and I have the ocean and the sky. That's really all that matters. Well, I mean, the rum was nice, too, but not totally necessary. :p
I've missed having someone to talk to unreservedly about things. It's nice being able to speak frankly about anything without worrying about how it'll be perceived. There's a reason this girl has been my friend since our sorority days.
She has no idea how much I needed this, but I will always be grateful to her. Being near the ocean--especially at night, but even during the day--is a mystical experience for me. One day, I swear I will live near the sea. When I'm close to it, I'm as close to being happy as I'll probably ever be in my life...and I'm fine with that. I'm sure I will be poor, crazy, and alone my whole life, but if I can spend it near the coast, perhaps even with some friends, even if it's just when they're on vacation, I won't consider it a wasted life. The ocean makes me feel closer to God than I ever feel anywhere else.
So, yeah, like I said--mystical experience. And, yes, it sounds insane, but I'm actually quite level-headed (if a little sleep-deprived) at the moment.
Life is good right now. The feeling won't last long, but that makes it all the more precious, I suppose. There have been so few moments like this in my life that I refuse to ever let them slip through my fingers. I'll cling tightly to this place, to these memories, to get me through yet another long, hard fall and winter. And maybe one day, I can live somewhere that has no natural seasons--the tropics, the land of perpetual summer--and not have to go through this torment every year.
I love you, Mother Ocean.
Today, L. and I went shopping during the heat of the day because neither of us handle the heat that well. After we came in from that, she napped while I did some work. Then, we went down to the beach for a late evening swim. Well, she waded in, and I intended to actually swim some.
But, of course, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I waded out onto the first sandbar, turned around to say something to Laura who was still sitting at the water's edge...and saw a big fucking sting ray behind me, less than six feet away. I'm pretty sure nobody's EVER seen a fat girl run that fast out of the water before.
So, yeah, so much for that swim. I'm not one of those people who's overly paranoid about sharks, but rays genuinely terrify me. Once I bailed out, I just stood on the shore with Laura and watched the tide coming in.
Then, we came in, showered, got dressed, and went to a nice restaurant, which gave me an excuse to put on a cute top and makeup and straighten my hair for the first time in forever. I had broiled grouper with a macadamia nut crust and an orange-ginger glaze. Oh. My. God. I'm pretty sure I heard angels singing with every bite I took. There was also a salad, rice pilaf, and grilled green beans as well. That easily ranked up there as one of the top five meals I've ever had in my life.
After that, we came back to the hotel and put on more comfortable clothes. L. had brought some liquor with her, so we made ourselves drinks. I broke the seal on a bottle of pineapple-coconut rum and mixed it with orange-pineapple-banana juice. (I only had one, though. I have no desire to die from liver failure via alcohol and crazy meds.) We took our drinks out on the deck, stretched out on a couple of lounge chairs, and watched the waves roll in and the stars in the sky.
Apparently, there are still stragglers from the meteor shower earlier in the month floating around because while we only sat out for a couple of hours, we saw about 5 shooting stars. Since we were closer to the hotel than we were last night, I was able to download a star map on my phone as well, which resulted in lots more constellation-hunting. AND I was able to identify Sagittarius as soon as we sat down out there, without the star map, LOL. Yay for learning!
Panama City Beach is actually not my favorite area on the Emerald Coast, but I don't care. I have my wonderful friend L. here with me, and I have the ocean and the sky. That's really all that matters. Well, I mean, the rum was nice, too, but not totally necessary. :p
I've missed having someone to talk to unreservedly about things. It's nice being able to speak frankly about anything without worrying about how it'll be perceived. There's a reason this girl has been my friend since our sorority days.
She has no idea how much I needed this, but I will always be grateful to her. Being near the ocean--especially at night, but even during the day--is a mystical experience for me. One day, I swear I will live near the sea. When I'm close to it, I'm as close to being happy as I'll probably ever be in my life...and I'm fine with that. I'm sure I will be poor, crazy, and alone my whole life, but if I can spend it near the coast, perhaps even with some friends, even if it's just when they're on vacation, I won't consider it a wasted life. The ocean makes me feel closer to God than I ever feel anywhere else.
So, yeah, like I said--mystical experience. And, yes, it sounds insane, but I'm actually quite level-headed (if a little sleep-deprived) at the moment.
Life is good right now. The feeling won't last long, but that makes it all the more precious, I suppose. There have been so few moments like this in my life that I refuse to ever let them slip through my fingers. I'll cling tightly to this place, to these memories, to get me through yet another long, hard fall and winter. And maybe one day, I can live somewhere that has no natural seasons--the tropics, the land of perpetual summer--and not have to go through this torment every year.
I love you, Mother Ocean.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Southeast Of Disorder
I'm currently sitting in a hotel room on the beach in Panama City Beach with my dear friend L.
I just knew that I wouldn't be able to go to the beach this year because I'm so fucking broke, but a couple of weeks ago, L. informed me that she was taking me to the beach with her. I was like, "Oh, I appreciate the thought, but I don't have the money to go." She told me that she was going to cover the whole thing, all expenses paid. I told her I couldn't let her do that, and we went back and forth for awhile. But to make a long story short, she wouldn't let me say no, so...here I am.
We spent a couple of hours sitting on the beach tonight. We walked down to the water at first, and I let the waves wash over my feet and ankles for awhile. Then we moved back to the hotel lounge chairs and sat in them. From there, I could see my two favorite things in the whole world--the sky and the sea. There were large patches of clouds in the sky when we first sat down, and I said that I wished the clouds would move back so we could see more than just a couple of stars. And apparently, the sky gods were listening because as we sat there, the clouds split in half right above where we were sitting and pulled back little by little to reveal a wide expanse of sky and stars.
L. downloaded a sky map on her phone, and we fucked around with it for awhile, looking for constellations. There was one pretty much directly in front of us that I'd been looking at for awhile, as the app was downloading, and I said, "You know, that right there looks like it oughta be something." Turns out, it was Sagittarius--my zodiac sign, for anyone keeping score at home. That made me extremely happy for some reason.
We found several others, too. I told Laura that I had tried to watch the meteor shower earlier this month but that every time I'd tried, it'd been cloudy. Later, she saw a meteor and was all "Hey, I saw a meteor!" And I was like dammit, I missed it.
A little later, though, as I was staring off to the east, I saw one shoot across the sky, which made me inordinately happy. I squealed like child...or a lunatic. Your choice.
There is absolutely nothing I love more in this world than sitting on the beach at night and seeing that point on the horizon where the sky and the ocean meet. I could've stayed out there all night, but L. was getting chilly. I didn't wanna be an ass, so I came back inside with her.
I know what I want to happen when I die. I want all my donateable organs donated. I want my brain donated to the place where bipolars and schizophrenics can donate their brains after they die so that they can be studied in order to help the living crazy people. If I'm still young and attractive, I want to be dressed in the most obnoxious red dress that can be found for my funeral home viewing. That way, I can die as I lived--as a flamboyent redneck. If I'm old and ugly, I don't want to be exhibited. Just nail down the coffin and hide me from public view. Then, once that's done, I want to be cremated and scattered out to sea.
Why? Because in this world the ocean is the only thing big enough to quiet the demons that scream at me. Its vastness swallows me whole, enfolds me in its arms, and utters whatever voodoo necessary to silence them. I once thought I could find that in other places, but it was only temporary. But the ocean? It'll be here until long after all of us humans die off, and I want it to be this body's last resting place.
My soul, of course, will go back to the Great Cosmic Waiting Room to await the right time to be reborn. In my next life--which I pray to God is better than this one--I hope I'm reborn as a sailor. Or maybe I have been one before and just didn't know.
As a dreamer of dreams
And a traveling Bun,
I have chalked up many mile
Read dozens of books
About heroes and crooks
And I learned much from both of their styles....
I just knew that I wouldn't be able to go to the beach this year because I'm so fucking broke, but a couple of weeks ago, L. informed me that she was taking me to the beach with her. I was like, "Oh, I appreciate the thought, but I don't have the money to go." She told me that she was going to cover the whole thing, all expenses paid. I told her I couldn't let her do that, and we went back and forth for awhile. But to make a long story short, she wouldn't let me say no, so...here I am.
We spent a couple of hours sitting on the beach tonight. We walked down to the water at first, and I let the waves wash over my feet and ankles for awhile. Then we moved back to the hotel lounge chairs and sat in them. From there, I could see my two favorite things in the whole world--the sky and the sea. There were large patches of clouds in the sky when we first sat down, and I said that I wished the clouds would move back so we could see more than just a couple of stars. And apparently, the sky gods were listening because as we sat there, the clouds split in half right above where we were sitting and pulled back little by little to reveal a wide expanse of sky and stars.
L. downloaded a sky map on her phone, and we fucked around with it for awhile, looking for constellations. There was one pretty much directly in front of us that I'd been looking at for awhile, as the app was downloading, and I said, "You know, that right there looks like it oughta be something." Turns out, it was Sagittarius--my zodiac sign, for anyone keeping score at home. That made me extremely happy for some reason.
We found several others, too. I told Laura that I had tried to watch the meteor shower earlier this month but that every time I'd tried, it'd been cloudy. Later, she saw a meteor and was all "Hey, I saw a meteor!" And I was like dammit, I missed it.
A little later, though, as I was staring off to the east, I saw one shoot across the sky, which made me inordinately happy. I squealed like child...or a lunatic. Your choice.
There is absolutely nothing I love more in this world than sitting on the beach at night and seeing that point on the horizon where the sky and the ocean meet. I could've stayed out there all night, but L. was getting chilly. I didn't wanna be an ass, so I came back inside with her.
I know what I want to happen when I die. I want all my donateable organs donated. I want my brain donated to the place where bipolars and schizophrenics can donate their brains after they die so that they can be studied in order to help the living crazy people. If I'm still young and attractive, I want to be dressed in the most obnoxious red dress that can be found for my funeral home viewing. That way, I can die as I lived--as a flamboyent redneck. If I'm old and ugly, I don't want to be exhibited. Just nail down the coffin and hide me from public view. Then, once that's done, I want to be cremated and scattered out to sea.
Why? Because in this world the ocean is the only thing big enough to quiet the demons that scream at me. Its vastness swallows me whole, enfolds me in its arms, and utters whatever voodoo necessary to silence them. I once thought I could find that in other places, but it was only temporary. But the ocean? It'll be here until long after all of us humans die off, and I want it to be this body's last resting place.
My soul, of course, will go back to the Great Cosmic Waiting Room to await the right time to be reborn. In my next life--which I pray to God is better than this one--I hope I'm reborn as a sailor. Or maybe I have been one before and just didn't know.
As a dreamer of dreams
And a traveling Bun,
I have chalked up many mile
Read dozens of books
About heroes and crooks
And I learned much from both of their styles....
Friday, August 23, 2013
Dearest X
Dear X,
I know I'm running pretty late, but I still haven't forgotten. Happy Birthday.
I'm not going to lie: I thought seriously about putting a card in the mail for you for your birthday, like I did for Y. What stopped me, though, was the fear that it might upset you. So in lieu of that, I'll settle for doing what I do every year and posting another one of those letters I'll never send right here on my blog.
Even after all this time and all that happened, I still love you. I think about you every day. Sometimes, the desire to reach out to you is overwhelming. The only reason I don't give in is, again, the fear of upsetting you. I feel sure you're much happier in your life if I stay away, and I don't blame you at all for that. All I ever did was bring you grief.
I hope you're happy. I really, really do. I hope you're so ridiculously happy with your life that nothing in the world could ever bring you down. I hope you will be that happy today, tomorrow, and forever. You deserve it.
I'm a fool, but a part of me still hopes every morning when I wake up and check my email that I might have something from you. It's false hope. I know you won't be sending anything, and that's fine. I understand. But that last stubborn little faint spark of hope refuses to go out, so there it is. I won't ever reach out to you, no matter how strong the desire is, but if you ever reached out to me, I'd never turn you away out of pride...or out of anything else, actually. I'd be too happy to hear your voice or read your words to ever do that.
Even now, I still have your number in my phone. Hell, I don't even know if it's still *your* number. But I've still got it, regardless. And every time I scroll past it in my contacts, I feel a tiny smile come to my face. Then, the pain and the guilt come back, and the smile is forgotten, but the twinge happens every time I see your name in my phone.
I miss you. Desperately. I was unforgiveably cruel to you, partly because I was crazy, but mostly because you were everything I ever wanted to be and couldn't. I was envious, and rather than dealing with it myself, I let it bleed over into our relationship and hurt you time and time again. I'm so sorry. I know you don't believe it--and I can't say that I blame you--but I did love you then, and I still love you now.
I hope your birthday goes well and that the rest of your life does, too. I don't know how things are now, but I remember that back then, you used to be plagued with doubts about yourself. Please don't doubt yourself. We all have flaws, yes, but inside, you are good and kind and warm and competent and good at everything you do.
And, please, if you ever need anything, all you have to do is reach out, and I will be there, no questions asked.
Happy Birthday, my love.
~Bunny
I know I'm running pretty late, but I still haven't forgotten. Happy Birthday.
I'm not going to lie: I thought seriously about putting a card in the mail for you for your birthday, like I did for Y. What stopped me, though, was the fear that it might upset you. So in lieu of that, I'll settle for doing what I do every year and posting another one of those letters I'll never send right here on my blog.
Even after all this time and all that happened, I still love you. I think about you every day. Sometimes, the desire to reach out to you is overwhelming. The only reason I don't give in is, again, the fear of upsetting you. I feel sure you're much happier in your life if I stay away, and I don't blame you at all for that. All I ever did was bring you grief.
I hope you're happy. I really, really do. I hope you're so ridiculously happy with your life that nothing in the world could ever bring you down. I hope you will be that happy today, tomorrow, and forever. You deserve it.
I'm a fool, but a part of me still hopes every morning when I wake up and check my email that I might have something from you. It's false hope. I know you won't be sending anything, and that's fine. I understand. But that last stubborn little faint spark of hope refuses to go out, so there it is. I won't ever reach out to you, no matter how strong the desire is, but if you ever reached out to me, I'd never turn you away out of pride...or out of anything else, actually. I'd be too happy to hear your voice or read your words to ever do that.
Even now, I still have your number in my phone. Hell, I don't even know if it's still *your* number. But I've still got it, regardless. And every time I scroll past it in my contacts, I feel a tiny smile come to my face. Then, the pain and the guilt come back, and the smile is forgotten, but the twinge happens every time I see your name in my phone.
I miss you. Desperately. I was unforgiveably cruel to you, partly because I was crazy, but mostly because you were everything I ever wanted to be and couldn't. I was envious, and rather than dealing with it myself, I let it bleed over into our relationship and hurt you time and time again. I'm so sorry. I know you don't believe it--and I can't say that I blame you--but I did love you then, and I still love you now.
I hope your birthday goes well and that the rest of your life does, too. I don't know how things are now, but I remember that back then, you used to be plagued with doubts about yourself. Please don't doubt yourself. We all have flaws, yes, but inside, you are good and kind and warm and competent and good at everything you do.
And, please, if you ever need anything, all you have to do is reach out, and I will be there, no questions asked.
Happy Birthday, my love.
~Bunny
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
My Dearest Y
Dear Y,
Happy Birthday.
I hate that I can't be there with you, hate that I'm too broke to even pay my rent by myself this month, much less buy you a present. Hopefully, I can get you something before I see you again, but that's not that point.
Of course, I don't even know if you'd want me there or not. Sometimes I think I'm just selfishly forcing my company onto you, while you awkwardly deal with me the best way you can and get rid of me as soon as is politely possible, like someone would do with a crazy old aunt or something. But maybe that's just paranoia talking again.
Let's talk about something else.
Do you remember when you turned 21? It was on a Monday, I think. You were taking summer classes, and that Monday and Tuesday were the days that you were taking your finals. At least I think so, anyway. My memory is going in my old age.
But once Wednesday arrived, it was on and popping. You, me, and L. partied non-stop Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday to celebrate your 21st birthday. It was a different bar every night. Wednesday, Pelham's. Thursday, The Sports Nut. Friday, the strip in Anniston--The Crimson Tiger, The Office, The Smoking Moose. And Saturday, the place that eventually became our go-to place for every celebration, for every bored weekend night, and, of course, for every heartache--A.J.'s.
I have to go right by A.J.'s every month when I go to pay my rent. I paid my rent today, so I saw it again. It doesn't have quite the allure during the daytime that it does at night. Of course, I haven't been inside since you, me, and L. went for your 24th birthday (a couple of weeks late) back in 2010. Everything had already changed by then, but I guess we were all trying desperately to pretend it hadn't. You were in the process of moving on to a different life. You weren't even living in the apartment with me anymore. L. was disappearing inside herself with her unhappy marriage. And me? I was sitting at the top of the highest hill on a roller coaster named Insanity, suspended in that one moment before everything lets go and the cars crash down in free-fall to the bottom.
I still have pictures. I was still growing out that horrendous haircut. You were wearing one of your purple-and-green print shirts. (Your favorite colors. Are they still your favorites? I feel eaten up with guilt inside because I don't even know the answer to that question anymore.) I was wearing fake eyelashes; and one of them never quite stuck on right, and it was pretty obvious. I knew it then. I just didn't give a shit.
I think we had fun. Did we? I know I didn't drink very much because I'm the one who drove back home. I only remember that because we got stuck in a license check going up the mountain on Greenbrier, which APD had set up in hopes of making some drunk driving arrests on people leaving the bars. We were in L.'s car. I was driving, she was riding shotgun, and you were giggling in the backseat. I showed the cop my license and L.'s insurance card. He asked us who'd been drinking, and you leaned forward from the backseat and squealed, "Me! It's my birthday!" The cop kinda chuckled, handed our stuff back to us, told us to be careful, and waved us on through.
So, yeah, I guess we had fun. How the fuck I ended up being the one who was safest for driving, God only knows. There is a certain kind of irony in that.
I haven't been back there since. I haven't been to any bar since, actually. For someone whose entire vocation for years was binge-drinking, it's quite an accomplishment.
I could say that I haven't gone because I saw the error of my ways or some such bullshit, but I'd be lying. (And what use is it to lie here?) I haven't gone to any of them--and especially that one in particular--because it just won't be the same without you.
You have no idea how proud I am of you. You knew what you wanted in life. You weathered the hardships starting out, and then you made yourself into what you wanted to be. We've all changed since then. Some of the changes have been for the better, and some for the worse. But regardless, I admire you for knowing what you wanted and doing what you had to do to get it.
But I've changed, too. Sometimes, I wish you could see it. But then maybe you do see it. I don't know. Maybe, no matter who I am, I just really don't have any place in your life anymore. I wish I did. I wish like hell that I did. But maybe I don't. I don't know.
Regardless, though, despite all that's happened in our lives, all the changes we've gone through, and all the bullshit we've endured, I never stopped loving you. Not even once. Not for a single second. I won't tell you this because I'm not going to guilt-trip you, but I love you more than anything in this whole world and always have, even when I made you feel like I didn't. I'm so sorry for all that I put you through, and I know I'll never be able to make it up to you.
I want to say that I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. But prudence says that I shouldn't force myself into your space, into your life, just to assuage my guilt. I have used you like a crutch for much too long, and it made you hate me. I don't blame you. I hate me, too. It wasn't right. It just...wasn't. There's no way to justify it.
But still, I will always be here for you, every moment of every day. I'm trying to stay in the shadows as much as I can, but all I need from you is one word to come bounding out again, sword in hand, armor flashing, to fight off whatever dragon that you need slain. Or maybe I'll just be some weirdo in a tinfoil suit flailing around with a baseball bat, but perhaps it'll at least make you laugh.
Live. Laugh. Enjoy your birthday and every day of the rest of your life. In your darkest times, remember that you are loved beyond compare--not just by me but by many others. And if ever you need me, keep in mind that I am always lurking in the shadows, Louisville Slugger in tow.
Love,
Bunny
Happy Birthday.
I hate that I can't be there with you, hate that I'm too broke to even pay my rent by myself this month, much less buy you a present. Hopefully, I can get you something before I see you again, but that's not that point.
Of course, I don't even know if you'd want me there or not. Sometimes I think I'm just selfishly forcing my company onto you, while you awkwardly deal with me the best way you can and get rid of me as soon as is politely possible, like someone would do with a crazy old aunt or something. But maybe that's just paranoia talking again.
Let's talk about something else.
Do you remember when you turned 21? It was on a Monday, I think. You were taking summer classes, and that Monday and Tuesday were the days that you were taking your finals. At least I think so, anyway. My memory is going in my old age.
But once Wednesday arrived, it was on and popping. You, me, and L. partied non-stop Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday to celebrate your 21st birthday. It was a different bar every night. Wednesday, Pelham's. Thursday, The Sports Nut. Friday, the strip in Anniston--The Crimson Tiger, The Office, The Smoking Moose. And Saturday, the place that eventually became our go-to place for every celebration, for every bored weekend night, and, of course, for every heartache--A.J.'s.
I have to go right by A.J.'s every month when I go to pay my rent. I paid my rent today, so I saw it again. It doesn't have quite the allure during the daytime that it does at night. Of course, I haven't been inside since you, me, and L. went for your 24th birthday (a couple of weeks late) back in 2010. Everything had already changed by then, but I guess we were all trying desperately to pretend it hadn't. You were in the process of moving on to a different life. You weren't even living in the apartment with me anymore. L. was disappearing inside herself with her unhappy marriage. And me? I was sitting at the top of the highest hill on a roller coaster named Insanity, suspended in that one moment before everything lets go and the cars crash down in free-fall to the bottom.
I still have pictures. I was still growing out that horrendous haircut. You were wearing one of your purple-and-green print shirts. (Your favorite colors. Are they still your favorites? I feel eaten up with guilt inside because I don't even know the answer to that question anymore.) I was wearing fake eyelashes; and one of them never quite stuck on right, and it was pretty obvious. I knew it then. I just didn't give a shit.
I think we had fun. Did we? I know I didn't drink very much because I'm the one who drove back home. I only remember that because we got stuck in a license check going up the mountain on Greenbrier, which APD had set up in hopes of making some drunk driving arrests on people leaving the bars. We were in L.'s car. I was driving, she was riding shotgun, and you were giggling in the backseat. I showed the cop my license and L.'s insurance card. He asked us who'd been drinking, and you leaned forward from the backseat and squealed, "Me! It's my birthday!" The cop kinda chuckled, handed our stuff back to us, told us to be careful, and waved us on through.
So, yeah, I guess we had fun. How the fuck I ended up being the one who was safest for driving, God only knows. There is a certain kind of irony in that.
I haven't been back there since. I haven't been to any bar since, actually. For someone whose entire vocation for years was binge-drinking, it's quite an accomplishment.
I could say that I haven't gone because I saw the error of my ways or some such bullshit, but I'd be lying. (And what use is it to lie here?) I haven't gone to any of them--and especially that one in particular--because it just won't be the same without you.
You have no idea how proud I am of you. You knew what you wanted in life. You weathered the hardships starting out, and then you made yourself into what you wanted to be. We've all changed since then. Some of the changes have been for the better, and some for the worse. But regardless, I admire you for knowing what you wanted and doing what you had to do to get it.
But I've changed, too. Sometimes, I wish you could see it. But then maybe you do see it. I don't know. Maybe, no matter who I am, I just really don't have any place in your life anymore. I wish I did. I wish like hell that I did. But maybe I don't. I don't know.
Regardless, though, despite all that's happened in our lives, all the changes we've gone through, and all the bullshit we've endured, I never stopped loving you. Not even once. Not for a single second. I won't tell you this because I'm not going to guilt-trip you, but I love you more than anything in this whole world and always have, even when I made you feel like I didn't. I'm so sorry for all that I put you through, and I know I'll never be able to make it up to you.
I want to say that I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. But prudence says that I shouldn't force myself into your space, into your life, just to assuage my guilt. I have used you like a crutch for much too long, and it made you hate me. I don't blame you. I hate me, too. It wasn't right. It just...wasn't. There's no way to justify it.
But still, I will always be here for you, every moment of every day. I'm trying to stay in the shadows as much as I can, but all I need from you is one word to come bounding out again, sword in hand, armor flashing, to fight off whatever dragon that you need slain. Or maybe I'll just be some weirdo in a tinfoil suit flailing around with a baseball bat, but perhaps it'll at least make you laugh.
Live. Laugh. Enjoy your birthday and every day of the rest of your life. In your darkest times, remember that you are loved beyond compare--not just by me but by many others. And if ever you need me, keep in mind that I am always lurking in the shadows, Louisville Slugger in tow.
Love,
Bunny
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