It's strange to know he still thinks of me, and with such hatred, such regret. It all seemed light years ago, but it could have happened yesterday. A stronger self would approach him, indirectly, perhaps on an instant messenger, it's less intrusive. I'd speak to him, find out what it is that won't allow him to let go of all that hate. If he'd respond. His words dripped with disdain, the kind that one worries will ruin shoes. If he refused to speak to me I'd mull it over for a day or so; some things never change.
If he lashed out instead in anger, in hatred, I'd feel quite the same as before. But to sit and hear him speak his mind, to be able to listen, to lessen that burden, ease the trouble in his mind, his heart; it would be strange indeed.
But I am not that strong of self, and such hatred would afflict me greatly. I managed to overcome him once; I will not allow myself into that dreary and troubled world once more. So I perch, ironically, tapping out the same keys that both eased him and caused him such distress, and let it float away. Perhaps I am not strong enough to respond to his words, his truth. On the contrary, perhaps I am stronger still in not needing to.
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