Letters to Michael, 2

I can't believe that you left me with this, all of this giant mess that I have no idea how to deal with, and just life in general, and after tomorrow, I'll be alone.  Alone rattling around in this house that is too big for me to deal with, trying to reconstruct my life.

And I know it's not constructive, but I blame you, on nights like this, when all the alone seems like too much.  It's hard not to sift through the rubble of the last years, of the last decade, to look at the shattered pieces in my hands and wonder where it all went wrong.

There aren't any answers to that.  Not even fault, in a way, except maybe for the fact that you could never step back from that cliff, never stop dipping your toes into that dark channel, and so as everything got harder and harder, it was the only thing that you could focus on.

Of course I should have seen.  But to what point?

So many days I can walk on by, keep passing the open windows... but it's been harder lately.  So much of the time, all I can feel is the sad and alone.  And the bitter anger that does no one any good. At the end of it, all that's left is missing you.