I almost called you yesterday. I'm not sure why, but you came crashing into my consciousness like a tidal wave ready to hit the shore. I had this dreaded feeling that you weren't doing so well, that something went array, and I was overwhelmed by this grand sensation of anger. Even if silence is all that's left of what was once a bond promised to last forever, I still feel so protective of you. Like it's my job to offer you my hand or a shoulder to cry on, like it's my lifelong duty to make sure that you lead the best life you possibly can. I almost dialled the phone, but then I realised that even if you were in distress, you wouldn't want me calling you. You wouldn't care that I care, because you were able to move on so much faster and so much easier than I, and while I'd like to think we were both in this state of agony and disbelief when everything fell apart, the truth is that for you it was simply a burden lifted, and not pain imposed. Surely you are now surrounded by far better people than I ever hope to be. Surely you are loved in ways I wasn't able to, and held as firmly as I should have all those months ago. I guess what I'm trying to say is that despite everything, I'm here. I'm always here.
I somehow manage to understand that it does not matter how far I rise or how much I grow - my path was meant to have bumps in the road. I am supposed to fail, and I am supposed to stumble. Because if I keep pushing myself higher and higher, the law of averages predicts that I will sometimes fall, sprain my body, and be left rotting and alone. Yet I know now there is no such thing as failure - just life trying to move me in another direction. And it's fine if I isolate, and feel bad for a while or if I give myself room to mourn. I have always needed time, a lot more time than most, but I think I've finally realised that all my mistakes, even the ones that knock me off my feet, are there to show me who I'm truly meant to become, who I don't want to be, and who I've been all this time.
