Time is the only friend we have. Time is all we’ve got. We barricaded against the other, but then we started to pummel our walls. I feel like we sit amidst the debris ever unsure, wary, waiting for the next airstrike. I didn’t realize what we were getting into. I should have known, but I didn’t realize this would be the extent. You wrote to me once, all is fair in love and war. Is this love or is this war? What is the distinguishing difference? At times they feel the same. We break each other down emotionally and physically, trying to get in, trying to feel. And then we feel and then we pull away. We say we are numb. We are invincible. Indivisible. I don’t get it. We destroyed the civilization of ourselves. I want you to stay and help me repair the damage, but I know that’s not how war works. You have other battles to fight and other views to ravage. Like a true warrior. You are a new strain of microbe. Resilient. Tell me that I’ve earned a spot, a place, a scale of comparison. I didn’t know I could forget until now. “You’ve been wrong this whole time.” Tell me you know what that means. Tell me it means something to you. It resonates, doesn’t it?
“You don’t tell a story only to yourself. There’s always someone else. Even when there is no one.” — Margaret Atwood