I don't really know. He gave me one excuse after another, and it always changed. That's what he was all about: excuses. The white flowers... every night after he killed me, he left a white flower by my window.
I was okay with dying, you know. Even if I was angry, I would have done anything for him. But when I came back and when I confronted him, and when he cried because he didn't have to feel guilty anymore about what he did...I couldn't stand it. Everything was all about him. Maybe it always was.
Up until now, it's been the same. I thought about him every day, every night when I tried to sleep. I never finished things properly with him—he's dead but I didn't get the chance to end it myself.
But not anymore. I finally realized I can just be me, without him. And I can be me with someone else too. [ The end is quieter than the rest, but somehow it's stronger all the same. There's a lot he's worked through, a lot he's still working through, but he knows where he stands now. And he knows and accepts that he doesn't need to stand alone. ]
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I was okay with dying, you know. Even if I was angry, I would have done anything for him. But when I came back and when I confronted him, and when he cried because he didn't have to feel guilty anymore about what he did...I couldn't stand it. Everything was all about him. Maybe it always was.
Up until now, it's been the same. I thought about him every day, every night when I tried to sleep. I never finished things properly with him—he's dead but I didn't get the chance to end it myself.
But not anymore. I finally realized I can just be me, without him. And I can be me with someone else too. [ The end is quieter than the rest, but somehow it's stronger all the same. There's a lot he's worked through, a lot he's still working through, but he knows where he stands now. And he knows and accepts that he doesn't need to stand alone. ]