10.09.2002 - 3:08 p.m.

There was a moment, summers ago, when we sat on his bed and I tried to explain why I was so unhappy. I knew something was wrong. Something had been wrong for as long as I could remember. What was it, he wanted to know, but I couldn't tell exactly.

It was something to do with us, I added. Help me find it.

He didn't think it was us. He was happy with us. So there was nothing to fix, it was just me. I was wrong.

I cried. I cried the way I never cry anymore, shuddering, wondering if my throat was going to tear itself apart.

He hugged me, hard, and told the air next to my earlobe that everything would be alright. He promised.

And I punched him. Right in the gut, although not very hard because he was holding me so tight.

He was so surprised.

I was so surprised.

I didn't apologize. In fact, neither of us ever said anything about it, and I'd forgotten entirely until just recently.

One of these days, I am going to have to let go of all those echoes in my life. I am tired of having him in my head, tired of the way those memories make everyone around me seem terrible, to the point where I don't even make a good friend half the time. I have to let him be just another ex; I have to forgive myself for staying so long, and for not knowing how much more I would have let him hurt me.

I have to remember that even at my worst, I still knew when to sucker punch.

-stonebridge

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