Even if it's a lie, say it will be alright, and I shall believe.

I read somewhere once that if you don't write something everyday, then you're not really a writer, you're just playing at it. It's stuck with me for awhile, and I think I believe it to be true. Writing is work; it's a philosophy and a belief system. It's far from just plain talent. The thing is, I don't write everyday. I have all of these ideas floating in my head that just never make it down on paper. But that's going to change now. I think that I need to write everyday, not only to prove to myself that I can do it, but so I can keep myself sane.

We heard yesterday that the store is going to be re-opening here in a few weeks. And last week, I walked into the bookstore, complaining to my old boss that I didn't have a coupon and couldn't afford to buy a book without one, and she offered me a set of keys to be supervisor. It's been a surreal seven days. I feel like I've been sort of reinventing myself, even though nothing really seems to have changed. I just feel... differently.

The other day I wrote Ben another letter because I found an old picture of us. I had to cry when I looked at it because I'd pushed it so far back, hidden it so deep, that I forgot it even existed. He used to reference the picture all the time, after things had changed, and we just couldn't seem to get back to the way we were. He'd say he wanted that to be us again, the couple that everyone envied.

The thing is, M, is that I'm not sure what he might have been doing back then. Given his personality, and his actions over the last 7 years, I don't see how I can ignore the possibility that he was lying to me right from the get-go. But it never mattered. I always seemed to ignore the warning signs, the things everyone told me were happening but that I couldn't see for myself. I loved him with everything I had, and that meant always trying to see the best in him. After awhile, it became too obvious to ignore, and I realize now that that's where the real trouble began. We were fine when I turned my back to all of that shit, but as soon as I let it in, as soon as I opened up the box and let it all seep out, we cracked. And there wasn't enough glue in the world to put us back together. I don't know if I'm telling you this so that you'll give him a second chance and just ignore all of the things that have happened; I don't think I am, but then again, I have trouble figuring out what I want to happen with you guys on a day to day basis. It's almost like I want you guys to work so that I know he's capable of love and that everything we had was real. On the flip side, I almost revel in the fact that this has happened to you, and it wasn't just me that couldn't make him work. I don't know which one is more terrible or more selfish.

I'm not sure how I got here. This is not at all what this post was supposed to be about. I'm happy, and I'd hoped to convey that here. That even when I have my down days, and I remember all of this stuff about him that I loved, it's never enough to want him back. I used to think that he and I could be friends, but I know now that won't ever happen. I can't condone the things he's done to both of us, and I refuse to sit back and give him advice on a life that he created. He's alone like I always told him he would be. Then again, so are we. I guess it's both a blessing and a curse.