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12:47 a.m. My alarm clock says so.

1:35 a.m. My alarm clock says so.

2:56 a.m. My alarm clock says so.

3:29 a.m. My alarm clock says so.

It's the middle of the night, and it has been for days. I was hateful earlier, and now I can't sleep.

Guilty conscience.

I keep looking through the windows and waiting. Waiting for something to let me know that you heard me. That I matter.

No smoke signals.
No blinking lights.
Not even a bat signal.

(Not that I expected a bat signal... I know better than that.)

Anyway, that was yesterday. This week is different because it's goodbye, but really this time.

It's unfair to either of us, y'know? Peeking in windows for signs of life, cracking the blinds at all years of the month.

I'm tired of stalking vicariously through other people.

And I'm tired of being the bad guy.

A promise is a promise, and that's honorable. (Can you tell that I'm being sincere? Because I am. True story.) I've learned a lot about myself in the last day or so. Turns out I can be forgiving, to myself as well as to others.

So that's it, then. No hard feelings?

I wish you all the best.

-The girl who fought too hard.

P.s.
Sometimes I wish you would write again. I miss it, and not for the reasons you think. If you wrote historical nonfiction, if you wrote political dissertations, I'd read every word. Voraciously.

You're my favorite. Always and forever. More than Hemingway, more than O'Connor. More than Meyers, Collins, or anyone else around here. They're entertainment; you were sunshine and rain. Oxygen. Life.

And that's that.