When things come to an end, it hurts.
It burns .
And it builds.
And it leaves a stain and scar when the wound heals.
Sometimes, if not always, it messes with my ability to think straight.
Doesn’t matter if it all ended in my favour or that of the next.
It’s still the closing of a chapter in my life.

And I only hope that in the end, I have grown and I have learnt something.

It could be a lesson that saves me from the repetition of a mistake, or it could be an experience that I may gladly repeat but the point is that in the end, I am more than who I was when I started the chapter.

So then it shocks me that when the next person walks away, they leave exactly as they were when they first stepped in.
Now, I would never be so presumptuous as to believe that I am so awesome that I could have that kind of impact on anyone or anything that I shared a space with, but I would hope that I at least left a mark.

That this person would look at what we’d done and know what not to do next time, what to avoid in the journey forward. Or otherwise, they would be a better person for something we’d shared together – they would move forward and not regret our shared experience.

But I will not accept that the person who walked in through the door, left exactly as they had come.
That would mean that I was in the interaction alone.
That the bond that I was sure that we felt was a one-sided affair – that I had it wrong.

Even if it was for one red, hot second that I felt them – these feelings that come with engaging with another human being, I would still cherish them for their worth because even if they were misplaced, they were real for my part.
But then I recall that they were directed toward a mask – a pretence of a thing and I wonder what the point was…

Why did the next person bother sticking around when they weren’t prepared to be real with me?
What was the point of carrying the burden of falsehood when they could have simply walked away and spared both of us the time wasted?

You could have just put your cards down and shown me your face – trusted me enough to know that I could take it and that if I couldn’t, I would let you know or at the very least, I could have tried.

Because that is what I did for you.
It’s not something I picked up from some great big book of rules regarding the etiquette of friends.
No.
It is what I did for you.
I made space for your difference and your uniqueness – I didn’t put you in a box, inflexible and rigid.
I put you in my Heart where you were free to grow if you’d wanted to – free to flourish and prune yourself at your own discretion.
And I would be there just leading your cheers.
But you decided that you’d test me first with a counterfeit version of yourself.
And that was the one that I responded to…

That was the one that I opened up to.
And that is the one that I will remember.
I won’t remember you for your smile nor will I recall you for your jokes.
Because I don’t know where your truth began and the mask gave way…

So now I walk away from this with a sad story in my chest of how I cared far too much for a being who wasn’t truly ever there.
And I would ask you what – if anything – you learnt from this but I know somehow, it would be a disservice to my Heart to care.
Thank you so much, for showing me that it can be that a person can hide his Heart even as it sits on his sleeve.
And I pray that someday you will open up to someone with the same intensity that you kept yourself from me . . .

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