I'm breaking two rules with this post:
1. My sense of symmetry
2. My vow to never talk about you.
Because not a day goes by when I don't wish I had stopped you from leaving. All it would have taken was me asking you to stay. That's all you wanted, that's all you needed. But I let my pride get in the way. I let my work get in the way.
"I have a lot of work this week, I can't meet you."
"Hey I sat with a photograph and forgot about our dinner! Sorry."
You left. How much more could you take. You were right to leave.
Doesn't mean I don't hate you for it.
But you know what's ironic? You took my work with you. I can't do what I did best anymore. You've taken that away from me.
Look at this. I just sat for forty minutes, using all my skills, editing this photo to look like the footstep was moving towards and not away. This is how my life is now.
I just wish I could edit you into coming back to me.
C'est la vie, I guess.
I know, I know. You always did hate clichè.