It happened just as I knew it would. “Rusty?” the words on messenger popped up.
A thousand emotions rose up and subsided in me, and I clasped my hands tightly to keep from responding. It was written on an old inactive account that I had forgotten about, but hadn’t unlinked from.
My mind replayed that time when my two dearest of friend’s feet turned to clay on the very same day, and I was left to founder on my own for two years. It was a very hard lesson that I had thought I learned years ago about friendships and one way streets.
Yeah, I did finally recover, losing two precious years of what should have been some of the best of years. I told none of my online friends or family, and fought that one out alone. Those are the hardest of victories, but the more solid of them. In the end, we all walk that last mile alone, no matter how many are gathered around us, anyway. So too with affaires de coeur.
But there will be no second chances here. Casual chit-chat, maybe. But never again the deep conversations of the soul. Spiritually, I have moved on from those bleak days anyway, and I have no interest in other things than those marked out ahead of me.
So I softly closed the window, deactivated the account, and left the query unanswered.
So why is the wound still bleeding?