Then I received a letter.

I thought about the membrane between love and hate as I read it over, how thin and fragile it can be. I skimmed across the words, as if she could stab me if I moved too slowly. Some sentences were all caps, others an enraged jumble telling me she had moved on, never wanted to read another word again, would delete any reply I sent.

I was surprised. She was always a timid, empathic girl. I wonder if people could learn to harness the power rage gives them, put it to some constructive use; I was awed by it.

I saw a girl huddled on a bed, bloated red eyes pressed against the wall. Looking there I wondered about the last four years I had known her. Was I right to react the way I did? Had I undone all of the things I taught and showed her? Everything was swept away so quickly.

But I don't feel bad. It seems like one of those things that was going to inevitably happen. Actually reading the sentences I didn't feel any pain, just sympathy for how hurt she must feel.

Pretending like you're disowning someone just isn't teasing to me. Maybe there's laughter behind it but playfully abandoning anyone, even in jest, I think is wrong.

But I feel like praying for forgiveness. Wrong or no I really hurt her; I fucked up partly and need to make ammends for it, learn from it. But today is still wonderful.

Hopefully she'll be ok and learn from it too.

Goodbye, Della. I hope life is kind to you.

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