i wonder if you'll read this and...

resent me my words, breathe hatred into the lonely parts of sunday and fill the night like a balloon with all of my shortcomings until the week bursts and splatters among the years leaving us to contemplate the hours we spent with him, each in our own way. i assure you that i am no great damsel. on the contrary, my person is riddled with cracks and pounds begging to be filled and lost, respectively. he loved you first and for longer. and though we could spend ages of energy sorting out the complicated scheme of memory the fact remains, i am no enemy.