That’s the only way I can think of to describe the look on your face as you accused me and I protested that I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I thought I’d fallen for someone with intelligence but your insistence on the ridiculous and fallacious version of events presented by your Master, who wasn’t even there when you were, belies any claim you might have had to wisdom.

I find myself dwelling on that today. The idea that your Master had anything like the integrity you spoke so highly of, that somehow his opinion carried more weight than the actual lived experience of someone who had experienced trauma … the heartbreaking understanding your actions led to –  that you never loved me, that I was only ever a proxy for something (and someone) else… Well. These things aren’t ever going to change and I strive daily to accept them. Them, and your abject cowardice.

You led me to believe you had a certain amount of strength and willingness to do the work … but at this point I’m forced to acknowledge that, regardless of your pride in your “street-punk” origins, you are desperately clinging to the safety of the status quo.

I fervently hope that someday my heart will catch up to my brain where you are concerned. Fingers crossed.

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