When you left you didn't slam the door. Drama was your calling card but not your business. You pulled it shut quietly and a thousand interpreters would have misread the signs. Only I knew the soft click was a slam followed buy a hundred nails. And you. You knew.

You rewrite history and now the hammer is in my hands. Do you remember the truth any more? No accusation, simple question only. You believe so strong it makes me wonder. Not being able to pry open the door isn't the same as being the one who closed it.

Ah, but what does it all matter? That's your question. It should be my question. But it does matter and always did, at least to me. I care too much, take it all personally, and every lack of success is pure failure. A sad sigh and I move on but it all trails behind and when I slow down it overtakes me. Wee hours, only the sound of a fan and that ever present electric hum that is part of the modern world, and the clamor in my head is so loud I'll wake the neighbors.

What is left that I'm holding? My pride? Perhaps. It's a thin shred but I can't let go. Fool me once shame on you. Fool me ever after I'm the fool. I'm the fool. Because what if it isn't a thread of hope but only something caught in the breeze? Clutching at lines you aren't throwing is a game I won't be caught at. Be honest if you are and I won't let it sink. Even if you take me down too.

Too much time gone by, I'm sure. A distant memory for you and would that I could... it's still a careworn picture I miss on the wall, a phone call, an exchange, a dialogue I thought meant something... a door I'll keep open.

This is a waste.