once this was my safe haven.
that changed, like everything changes, life swirling us all about in a glass of rosé or champagne, or cheap white wine, if you’d rather.
and i notice that i’ve become agreeable, but no more than that. i’m still all here, all me.
and then on tuesday the rainbow of my life seemed to have been broken up into the component colours and merged together, forming black.
is black a colour? i don’t know. all i know is, i couldn’t possibly write on tuesday or wednesday. or yesterday even. but with time comes acceptance. so here i am now, accepting my failed anonymity.
Y has read my diary, this. every word, or most, violated with his eyes.
and i asked him not to.
i asked everyone close to me not to read it. everyone complied. but him.
i didn’t send a link. i didn’t tell him the name i assumed or the posts i’ve written. i merely read him a poem.
the last poem i had written here, trace of us.
i didn’t read it so he would find me. i never thought he would.
i read it because i felt like i needed to read it to someone and you wasn’t here. i read it because it was about him.
next thing i know, or rather remember, someone, and it could have been anyone but something tells me it was him, typed trace and put the cork essence of us blog into google.
he found me.
he was the only person i read that poem to. the only one. and it can’t have possibly been anyone else.
the search was done less than an hour after i read him the poem.
and though i didn’t start the blog for him or X or you even, i thought of deleting it or not writing any more.
but in the end, i haven’t started this blog for him so what if he reads it?
i haven’t started this blog for him and he won’t be the reason i end it.