The silence between the notes

  I'm an incredibly private person when it comes to my inner questions and fears and ideals. I've only ever shared those with a short list of individual confidants. Although I doubt that most people in my world really realize that there's so much they don't know about me...because I'm also an unusually philosophical and reflective person, and I DO SHARE those reflections sincerely and authentically with my friends/coworkers/etc. when I feel it's important to our purpose or our working relationship. But it's also likely that there are more sensitive, even controversial topics hidden deep below the surface of what I'm comfortable sharing...Until someone manages to open the floodgates and establish themselves as trustworthy enough to handle the rest...then since all of my ideas somehow relate to one another, I can't seem to stop until I explain all of them at once to the poor unsuspecting soul who offered to listen for the first few minutes. ...

You said to ask. If I needed anything in my future, all I'd have to do is ask. But what I need is for this to be gone, or to have never existed...So the memories can be gone, disappear like they never even were.  The memories of where we sat. And where we talked. And how you looked. And what I wore. And what you said. And what we swore. And what I feared. And what you hid. Or what I feared you hid.  All those memories make the feelings too strong. Too current. Too real. But you can't "fix" that while those memories are still here. And neither can I. So I just get angry. Or sad. Or confused. And it intensifies how much I hate you. And how much I hate everything we lost. Because I'm sure that you already forgot the memories, or never had them in the first place. And it was really just me, by myself, all along.  But what can either of us do to fix that now? Nothing...And what's left to work for or hope for...Nothing...And what could I possibly ask you to help wit...