my own closed mouth

unsent:

I have a lot of things I want to say to you, but I'm going to restrain myself. It's become painfully obvious that you have decided to completely gloss over both the purpose of and the message within my tiny missive to you. I hate that our entire relationship - all 14 years of it - comes down to one sentence. 14 years. Seems like a long time to know someone and then just dismiss them. It also seems to me to be pretty shallow to think that after 14 years, I don't know a thing or two about you.

Here's what I think I know: you have a hard time doing the things the rest of us find routine (not easy, just routine); you think that you're unique in your issues and that, no matter how hard anyone tries, no one will ever understand your desolation; you have brief shining moments of normalcy, of goodness, that lull me into thinking that maybe things are getting better; you do not share your feelings as easily as you used to and that this has led to many a misunderstanding between us of late; my heart broke when you didn't call.

Here's what I don't know: how you expect me to realise how bad life got for you when you haven't spoken to me outside trivial shallowness in years; if helping you is treating you like a delicate flower or like someone who needs a kick in the pants; what to make of the fact that everyone expects you to act in one way but you do the exact opposite; how to reconcile your plainspoken need for companionship and your utter rejection of its offer; if I can ever forgive you for being so selfish when you've clearly demonstrated you're better than that.

If things ended with bang, there would be some catharsis, some closure; this silence is far more hurtful.