More and more and more, I find myself stuck in the past. Things I wished had not been, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of despair. Every ounce of this problem was my fault. I should never have done what I had done. I am not worthy of care. Mother blames her, but this, I cannot. I give my condolences to she who must bare the weight of fury pushed upon her. It was not her fault but mine. Words spilt. Actions taken. Bonds weakened, and I cannot recreate the past. I cannot be that better person you wished of me. I will never be smart, or funny, or weird, as you called yourself. I wish I could have been. I wish I could have been there with you; but me, I’m not ever going to be good enough for you. You still wound me with your words, did you know? But I am deserving, and shall take what is given. I am sorry.
“Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant” – Socrates