I fell in love with you. And I’m pretty sure I wanted it. I thought I did. I wanted to feel that vulnerability. I wanted to know I could stand it. It’s time, right? I’m an adult now. I should be able to give something of myself away. I should be able to open up to something bigger than myself. I should be mature enough to take that risk.

We’ve talked this thing to death. We’ve talked it in circles over and over again. As if understanding it would make a difference. As if we could distribute the blame appropriately, take stock of the actionable intelligence, and deliver on a strategic outcome that apportions civilian casualties and defense spending in relation to long-term diplomatic goals.

But whatever.

Maybe the only thing to do now is walk away, to accept this is the end. I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. Maybe this is just therapy. Maybe this has nothing to do with you. Maybe I’m just talking to hear myself talk because I don’t know what else to do, because I’m unsettled, because, damn it, I don’t want to accept that the world hasn’t worked out as I’d hoped.

Or maybe I’m just hoping that I’ll finally get an apology. You should have been something you’re not. You should have been able to understand me. Or you should have recognized you never would and been the bigger person. You should have walked away. You should have stood up for yourself when I couldn’t be the person you needed.

Or I should have. I should have seen it coming. I should have been there for you. I wish I were that person. I wish I’d known the last time we spoke that it would be the last time. I wish I’d had the chance to tell you how important you’ve been to me, how I wouldn’t be who I am if it wasn’t for you. I wish the doctor had had my phone number.

I wish things were different. I wish I could be with you. Or maybe I just wish I wasn’t alone. That’s how this whole thing started. I was tired of being alone. I don’t know how to do it. I’ve heard of something called solitude, but I’ve never had it. Only loneliness.

My friends tell me I need to learn to love myself if I’m ever going to love anyone else, but I don’t know what they are talking about. I’ve never needed me. But I’ve needed you. Despite my fear of giving up control, I gave it up for you. At least I wanted to. I felt like l needed you, like I couldn’t be happy without you. At least that’s what I thought I was supposed to feel. Like it is us together or it isn’t anything at all.

“I was born when I met her. I died when she left me. I lived for a few weeks while she loved me.” Humphrey Bogart said that in a movie once. I wanted it to be that real. I wanted it to hurt that much. It scares me that it doesn’t. It scares me to know how capable I am. It scares me when I don’t think about it, when being alone starts to feel normal.

It will clear up. These things take time. Everything works out in the end, right? There’s no point in fighting for it. It just happens naturally. You try to keep your heart open and eventually the right circumstances come along and everything works out. Right?

In the meantime we try to learn from our mistakes. Or we at least learn to live with them. Or we at least live with them, even if we don’t learn anything.

But whatever. You know who you are.