Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Away from me

By the time I remembered the glass of whiskey on the side table, the ice in it had melted. The shot of cold Talisker burned my throat with familiar fire as I drained the glass empty. From my rocking chair on the back porch I had an unobstructed view of the setting sun. Mesmerized by the gentle bobbing up and down of the waves of liquid gold on the horizon I watched the sun set for a while. When it was finally dark, I reached back behind me to switch the porch light on and turned back to the book you had given me long ago. I had started reading it again earlier in the day, seeking comfort in its familiar words. As I opened the book, a neatly folded piece of paper fell out. I froze for a few seconds, remembering what was on the note...
I didn't sleep last night. All I could think about was you and me and the years we've been together in our strange way. And the more I thought about it, the madder I became. When Sam discovered our relationship, you threw me under the bus, Michael. You left me to deal with it. And I did. And you swore you'd never contact me again, but you did. Why, Michael? You were already seeing your girlfriend when you contacted me, so why did you do it? My reaction to yet another fake fucking email address from you, was correct. I was pissed and I should have stayed that way. But obviously, I'm an idiot where you're concerned.  What really kills me is that I didn't get a clue when you came to my hometown and didn't bother telling me. You could have told me about your girlfriend then, Michael, 4 months ago, but you didn't, you just kept talking about us getting back together in SL. What are you, some sort of fucking sadist?  You're the one constantly babbling about real life and SL, but you're the one who can't seem to keep it straight. You didn't even have the balls to actually tell me the truth, no, more fucking TYPING.
Let me be very clear - if I ever want to speak to you again, I'll let you know. Until then, you stay the hell away from me.

 I poured myself another shot of whiskey, before bending to pick up the paper.

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