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"I guess."
I think of my insides, the inside of mind, as a universe. I often follow that up with a bit about how I've got worlds to go when thinking of creative projects. Like any spacefarer, I've got a home planet. On this world, my first, the original oblate spheroid, is where my ego resides. My sense of self is firmly at the center of all that I am. All the people I know have their representatives in my psyche as countries, continents, constellations or... whatever. Everyone fits.

Some stars dim while others get plucked from the sky, but this is how this ends. Not with a boom, a bang, a whisper, or a whimper. A halfhearted, wholly heart-stopping resignation (that I imagine was accompanied with a shrug and that lip press you substitute for a smile as a consolation prize) that bubbles, but is still smooth, to form "I guess."

Respect is a big deal for me, so I respect that even though I hate it. I feel betrayed by it while thinking it's too much of a courtesy at the same time. Silence would've been more honest, but it would've left things open ended and I'm one those people that ******** crave closure like some people crave sugar, money, or freedom. It's a compulsion.

When I write the story of my life on my life's sunset, I know how to end this chapter. With an "I guess," but I'll have to put forth a question to make it make sense. Maybe I'll ask the reader what I asked.

"Are we done?" "I guess." Next chapter.

And I'll have to manage to put who I am, what I feel, and how I love in perspective of who you are, how you made me feel, and how I loved you in a single chapter. And I'm going to fit all of this mess into one chapter. All that time I spent waiting isn't time I'm going to spend writing. I say spend, and not waste, because it was an investment getting to know. Learning about myself in the process was a happy accident. I'm used to looking back on these kind of things negatively, endings, but I don't mind that my uneven gravity couldn't keep you close. And I like to think you won''t hold it against me!

Those few times we talked with our voices, though, were some of the best times I ever had. I'm sorry my voice is stupid and soft. I'm sorry it sometimes cracks. I'm sorry I sound bored, because I never was. I enjoyed your company so much and this is really hard for me...

I guess. It's simultaneously not enough and too much. It encompasses the quiet end I always imagined that would punctuate our relationship, but even in its quietude, two words are too much.

But this is how it ends.

FOE Brett
Community Member
FOE Brett
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