As I wrapped up my final piece in the Dear John series “Let bygones be bygones” I thought it’ll be my last. But as always I have much more to say, I always do.
To begin, I could’ve never written a better ending to this. Your response perfectly written. All of which were messaged to me. Telling me everything you needed to and not anything of what you didn’t. Enough to leave me at peace, leaving me validated in your understanding.
All my words, filled with my own emotions. All of whom I ponder the necessity of their nature. Referencing now, to words like miserable, comprising your character. Unfairly subjecting you, my readers, the audience to an unjust bias. Character assisantion? Maybe, or maybe your silence spoke a thousand more words you’d never tell me.
What if, everything I questioned, you pondered? What if, what I wrote secretly and quietly resonated within what I referenced the hallow empty walls your insides looked to be. Nothing, as new news to the perception of a subjective young girl, your eyes never saw as a woman.
Though, last in its series. These pieces, all my own favorites. All more than just representative of an experience but my transition. One I took as a writer. I, no longer producing one work narrating a time in my life but rather works, comparable to the consecutiveness a novel tells.