Archive for relationships

Pretty Pathetic, huh?

Posted in life story, Ramblings, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on 2016/02/24 by R L Burns

It is still so very weird to me that I actually believed all the things he said to me.  And even weirder that it sill bothers me so much nearly seven years later.  I feel utterly stupid that I didn’t get it that it was all a lie – but, you should know that it’s not ALL my fault; he was really good at the lie.  There’s a song by the band Seether in which the singer states:

You keep living in your own lie
                                                 Ever deceitful and ever unfaithful
                                                 Keep me guessing, keep me terrified
                                                 Take everything from my world

That pretty much sums up how I feel/felt/whatever.  Ridiculously, in retrospect, I thought I was much smarter than that; that no one could fool me so completely.  Well, now I know that I was wrong on that count, too.

You know, I guess it’s okay that it bothered – and bothers – me.  I mean, I believed he was the love of my life since I was a teenager.  In a way I only got involved with people who were, in a sense, disposable.  Not too flattering – for them or me.  I judged my feelings with everyone by my feelings for him, and their feelings for me by the way he had felt about me.  Comparing is never a good practice, I know, but I didn’t know I was doing it.  Well, I knew it, but I didn’t understand how MUCH I was doing it, nor how negatively it was impacting every romantic relationship of my entire life.  I can see it now, of course; I mean, don’t they say that hindsight is 20/20?  Yepper.  Definitely 20/20.

Even knowing all that now, though, I still don’t understand how I could be so taken in. Where were the signs that it was a lie?  Maybe…well, could’ve been the small amount of time he was able to carve out for me after I drove over one thousand miles to spend time with him.  Yeah, I guess that was a clue.  I’d be there a week and spend 80% of my time alone.  I guess that was a big sign, yes?  But when he was with me, he was WITH me.  Loving me, crying, begging…and when I was away from him, there were hundreds of phone calls, thousands of texts.  I mean, why would he do all of that if he was lying?  That’s what I couldn’t figure out.  Unless, maybe, he WAS just trying to be kind to me – in a weird-wrong-twisted kind of way.  He said later that he did it because he felt guilty that I had loved him so long.  I had loved him.  Hmmmm….and that he had not been in love with me since nearly fifteen years earlier when he wanted to be with me but I said no — he had a child and one on the way.  How could I break that up? I couldn’t, so I sent him back to her and the children, knowing that was the right thing to do – and knowing that he would, in the end, hate me if he left his family and then wasn’t close to them.  For a while I tried to believe that he was just saying all that about lying, that really he was a coward and just couldn’t pull the trigger.  But I suppose I was wrong, and he really didn’t love me any longer.  That is a horrible thing to accept…I kept others at arm’s length and never allowed myself to be happy because I was in love with him.  When I believed we finally had a real chance at the happily ever after we both claimed to have always wanted…well, I was deliriously happy.  And then I wasn’t.

And I am still not.

I still stand by my belief, though, that if he KNEW, the first time we saw each other again, that he didn’t feel the same about me, it would have been much kinder and much, much less disillusioning if he had thrown a pity fuck or two my way and then a tearful farewell. That, I would have held close to my heart with a tear and a smile.

Instead I am left with…nothing.



Definitely, Maybe

Posted in Ramblings with tags , , on 2010/06/20 by R L Burns

I just saw the movie, “Definitely, Maybe” on tv.  It was really, really sweet.  I admit to feeling a bit let down when he married the girl he did, but was so proud of a story that had his young daughter convince him to go see the love of his life once he and her mother were divorced.  She encouraged her father because she wanted him to be happy.  I was so pleased to see a movie where selfishness is not the main motivator of all the characters.  It’s worth a watch if you like a little romantic dramedy.


Posted in Sharing, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on 2010/04/25 by R L Burns

liar, user, cheater,

crumb bum, jerk…

people say those words to me

but somehow my mind won’t

accept them when it comes to him.

somehow i still believe there was a

reasonable reasoning for how this played out…

sometimes, though, the words get loud

and scream in my head —




they scream and they won’t stop, so

i take some meds

which can be a good thing except

on a night like tonight when my mind is

soooo ativan-addlepated that,

before i even knew what i was doing,

my left wrist was bleeding from three or four cuts,

along with a slash on my left thigh.


nothing too drastic, i mean,

i am a weenie, you know…it aches though.

i put on some polysporin and a bandage…

hopefully the marks will fade before i go

to school again monday…

you know, cutting is stupid.

i still don’t get why i would do it…

any ideas?

Street of Dreams

Posted in short story with tags , , , , , on 2010/02/08 by R L Burns

Rose sat bolt upright in her bed and looked around, confused.  That’s odd, she thought.  Why would I dream about him now?  She shook her head, took a drink of water from the carafe on her bedside table,  and settled back under the comforter.  Jeff slept soundly beside her, mouth open as usual, snoring.  Sleep claimed her again, and this time it was dreamless.

At work the next day, she felt off somehow, like something was nagging at the back of her brain.  Throughout the day she drifted off into space, her mind blank, and it took her much longer than usual to get the client billing done.  Then she had to complete an inventory of the editing truck they had brought back from the beauty pageant two days before. 

By the time she got home, she was exhausted and eager for bed.  Luckily, Jeff wasn’t home when she got there, so she quickly showered, brushed her teeth, and put on her nightgown – an old, comfortable flannel one.  She crawled into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. 

That night, when she awoke, she knew something was dreadfully, terribly wrong, and it wasn’t only the dream in which she had been trapped that filled her with fear.  Afraid to look around the room, she opened her eyes only a very tiny bit, little reptilian slits darting around the room.  Outside the moon was nearly full and the silvery glow was pouring into the bedroom window, making it easier to see than usual. 

Suddenly she knew what was wrong, but she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it.  Jeff was on the bed, on top of her – perhaps it seems incredible that she hadn’t known that sooner, but she had been deeply asleep, dreaming, and it had taken a while for her consciousness to fully rise to the surface. 

He was on top of her, naked.  Her nightgown was pulled up around her hips.  This in itself was not particularly odd, as he had some weird habit of fucking her (yes, fucking, it certainly wasn’t making love) when she was asleep – almost like he believed she would reject him if he approached her when she was awake.  Which she probably would have done.  This had happened several times now, though, and she just let it happen because it was easier than fighting him off.  She had, to her credit, asked why he did that to her, had asked him to stop. 

His only answer to why was, “I don’t know”. 

His answer to being asked to stop was to wait a week or two before assaulting her again. 

This time, though, something was different.  Yes, he was on top of her naked and he had removed her underpants and pulled up her nightgown, but he wasn’t having sex with her.  He was masturbating.  Realizing this, she suddenly wondered (like a really slow game of connect-the-dots) how/why she felt him moving inside her, too.  She opened her eyes a little more, but not much, because she didn’t want him to know she was awake – she didn’t want to face what was going on; it was too embarrassing.  (How stupid a girl she was, being embarrassed when HE was the one who should be embarrassed!  But, that’s how it was.) 

When she looked a little closer, she understood what was going on.  He was masturbating while simultaneously inserting the rubber handle of a hammer into her…She thought she would vomit.  How did I end up in this situation???  Why is this happening???  What do I do??? 

Of course, she did nothing, as usual, except close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else.  Invariably she saw herself sitting on the roof of the barn, a clean, fresh breeze blowing through her hair, making her smile.  She’d look down into the yard and catch a glimpse of someone making his way through the trees towards the barn to join her.  She could never see his face clearly, but she knew it was him, nonetheless:  Christopher.  Then she would smile even wider and all would be well, and she could make it through whatever was happening.  Totally ridiculous, she supposed, but, hey, people do whatever they have to in order to survive, don’t they?

In a mercifully short time, Jeff was finished.  She thought she would give herself away and jump up when she felt his hot sperm land on her stomach.  It was all she could do to keep from wretching and flinching.  She did stiffen like a board, knowing by then that he was too drunk or high and too aroused to notice much of anything except his own need.  Her eyes tightly closed, she heard a dull thud as the hammer hit the floor, and the squeak of the bed springs as he fell over to the side.  Within moments he was snoring. 

She lay there, tears flowing from her still-closed eyes,  pulled down her night gown and moved as far from him as she could in the double bed they shared.  She kept repeating to herself, That didn’t really happen.  It didn’t.  It was just a bad dream.  He wouldn’t do that to me…

To prove it,  she forced herself to look down on the floor beside the bed to see if the hammer was really there.  Shit.  It was.  She got up then, quickly, heedless of waking Jeff, and ran into the bathroom where she (who NEVER vomited) threw up repeatedly.  She cried as she knelt in front of the toilet, great wracking sobs. 

Finally spent, she got up, washed her face and brushed her teeth, and returned to her house of torment.  She climbed back into bed, careful this time not to do anything to disturb Jeff.  She stayed on the very edge of the bed, tense and taught as a bowstring, waiting for the snake next to her to strike again.  But he snored on peacefully.  She hated him then, more than she ever had done in the past, but her hypervigilence took it’s toll and eventually she fell asleep again.

In her sleep she saw Christopher.  He was in a car when suddenly there was a bright flash of light and a nauseating crunch of metal.  The next thing she saw was his crumpled body in the car.  His face was bleeding, as was his arm, profusely.  His leg looked to be at an odd angle.  She screamed his name and woke up.

Jeff grunted and rolled over.  Rose’s heart was pounding mercilessly and she could barely breathe.  What did it mean???


 Little more than a week later Jeff hit her for the first time and knocked her down the stairs.  Later she would find it curious that he had done the two things she had specifically said she could not, would not, tolerate:  sexual abuse (she’d had enough of that already),  and physical abuse.  The night he hit her, after she returned home with his “two fucking packs of cigarettes”, she had told him he had to leave. 

“I am going to my dad’s in two weeks to stay there for two weeks while he’s out of town.”

He had looked at her angrily and replied, “Alone?” 

She nodded. 

“Well, I don’t want to stay here at your mom’s house alone!”

She smiled at him.  “That’s the general idea.  Pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house.  I don’t care where you fucking go,  but you cannot, repeat, NOT, stay here.  AND I want a divorce.”

At that he cried and apologized for being such a bad husband.  She just sighed and told him not to worry about it, that their marriage had been a mistake from the beginning, made for all the wrong reasons.  She loved him, but not like a husband. She had felt gratitude towards him for “rescuing” her (or so she thought) from the relative who was sexually abusing her. 

When Christopher had written and told her to marry Jeff, be happy, and have lots of babies, what else was there for her?  (Of course, that was partly her fault, too, as she had not told him the truth about what was going on or about how much she still cared — what if he didn’t want her?  What if he was repulsed by her now that she was damaged goods?  What if he didn’t love her, only pitied her?  Nah, better not to take any chances with that, just hope he would see through the lies she told him.  But, he didn’t.)    No one cared or believed her when she tried to tell them about what was happening to her…She was angry at Jeff, but felt guilty because she, at least, had known she was doing something wrong in marrying him.  Maybe that was why she took his abuse for so long:  she believed she deserved it.

Once it was said, Rose felt much better, much calmer, more at peace than she had in a very long time.  She was able to sleep, although she went downstairs and slept with her sister. 

And again the dream came.  The car wreck, Christpopher covered in blood, leg broken.  This time, though, there was more.  She was in the hospital standing by his bed.  His head was bandaged and there were all kinds of IVs in his arm.  She was holding his hand and talking to him, telling him that she loved him and that he would be fine.  At one point his head turned towards her.  She smiled at him and told him he would be fine, that she was with him.  The shock on his face was almost comical.  Then she woke up.  What the hell???? she asked herself.

The next day at work she convinced her friend, Donna, to call his grandmother’s house to see if he was okay.  She had told Donna the whole dream and that she was worried that something was wrong with him.

“Please just call for me, Donna.  Please. ”

“Why don’t you call yourself?”

“I’m afraid of what I will hear….I don’t know.  Won’t you do this for me??  Please, pretty please with sugar on?”

Donna sighed and said, “Oh give me the damn number, Rose.”

Rose handed her the slip of paper and hugged her.  “Thank you!!”

As Donna dialed, Rose paced the room.

“Hello”, she heard Donna say into the phone.  “My name is Rose and I was trying to  reach Christopher.  Is he there by any chance?”

The grandmother replied warily, “Rose?”

“Yes, ma’am, Rose.”

“Rose from Virginia?”, the grandmother asked, obviously surprised.

“Yes, ma’am, Rose from Virginia.”

Instantly the grandmother’s tone changed to one of welcome.  “Honey, let me give you his number, he will be so glad to hear from you!  Call him right away!”

As Donna wrote down the number, Rose whispered to her, “Ask if he’s okay!  Ask if he’s okay!”

Donna frowned at her but said, “Thank you so much for the number ma’am, and I will certainly call him, but may I ask, is he doing alright?”

“Well, honey, it’s funny you would ask that because about two weeks ago he was in a pretty bad car accident.”  Donna’s eyes nearly popped out of her head and she looked at Rose in awe. 

“A car accident?”  Rose’s heart sank. 

“Yes, dear, and he broke his leg, and had some other hurts, but he’s okay now.  So you give him a call.  Bye now.”

“Bye, ma’am”, Donna said as she hung up the phone.  “Did you hear that, Rose??  He was in a car accident, just like your dream!  And his leg was broken!  How did you know?”

“I can’t tell you, Donna, because I don’t know myself.”

“Want me to call him, too?” she asked Rose sarcastically.

“No.  This is one call I need to make myself.”  Breathing deeply, Rose picked up the phone and dialed the number Donna had scribbled on the paper. 

The phone was picked up on the second ring.  It was him. 

“Hello?” he asked.

She was at a loss for a moment and didn’t know what to say.   She lamely ended up saying, “Uh, hi.  Bet you don’t know who this is!” 

How lame was that,  she thought to herself.  Dead silence greeted her.  “Um, hello?  Are you there?”

A few more seconds passed and then she heard him say, very quietly, “Oh yes I do know who this is.  Rose.”

“Oh, well.  Yes, it is me.”  Jeez, could I sound any more stupid???

They began to talk, and it was like they had never parted, really.  Suddenly he said, “You know, Rose, it’s really strange that you would call me now.  I mean, at this time.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, a couple of weeks ago I was in a pretty bad car accident”, he began.  “I’m okay now, but the strangest thing happened while I was in the hospital.  There was a nurse there, and I couldn’t see her, but she was holding my hand and telling me that I would be fine.  And she called me “Christopher”, not “Chris” like everyone else, and, well…it was YOU.  I know it was you.   Isn’t that stupid?” 

He sounded embarrassed, like he wished he hadn’t told her.

“Stupid?  No, I don’t think so.  Let me tell you why I called….”

And so it began again.  For the second time.

Falling Down the Stairs…Again

Posted in short story with tags , , , on 2010/02/07 by R L Burns

The next time she fell down the stairs, Rose didn’t trip on her pajamas.  She tripped on her husband’s fist.  She was twenty when it happened, and they had been married for nearly a year and a half.  Already she was disenchanted and was trying to find a way out of it.  Actually, if she was honest, she had known the day she married him that she was making a mistake, had cried throughout the entire ceremony, knowing she didn’t love this man, that she loved someone else…but somehow events had worked against her and she didn’t know what else to do. 

She worked for a video production company and had been up since four in the morning.  She had been on a shoot at five, working hard, pulling cable, setting up equipment, assisting one of her favorite cameramen, Rick, as he climbed all over the newest addition to the Saudi Royal Navy’s fleet of ships.  It hadn’t all been hard, dirty work. There had been a few light moments such as when two of the Saudi sailors had offered Rick two camels and a great deal of gold for his assistant.  They had been quite insistent, too, until Rick (who was like a big brother or uncle to her) had finally put down his camera and grabbed Rose in a huge bear hug and told them, “She’s mine!”  Kiss on the lips.  “You may not have her, not even for fifty camels!!” 

They had escaped the ship then, amidst a flurry of laughter.  Rose always enjoyed working with Rick, had no idea how sad she would be several years later when he suddenly collapsed and died on the set of a nationally popular religious show.

After the shoot  had come the clean up, the long trek back to the studio where everything had to be put away.  Bill and Jim had begun the arduous task of editing the footage from the day, and Rose knew that in the next few days she would be busy getting copies transferred from the United States NTSC standard to the Saudi PAL and SECAM.  This night, however, she had to clear up some client billing paperwork before she could make the forty minute drive home.

By the time she arrived at her mom’s house, it was after ten o’clock, and she was exhausted.  All she could think of was a shower and bed.  She had to be back at work by eight thirty the next morning.  She pulled up to the house, turned off the car, and just sat there, eyes closed, gathering the strength required to carry herself inside.  She was surprised to see that her mother’s car wasn’t in the yard, but thought nothing of it.  She looked up to the window of the bedroom she shared with Jeff and was sorry to see the light still on.  Damn, I was hoping he would already be asleep, she thought to herself.  Finally she opened the door and exited the car.  It was dark out in the country, but the moon was full and she let its silvery shimmer guide her to the front door. 

As she walked up the stairs, she could hear the television in their room.  As she reached the top of the stairs she forced a smile to her lips and walked into the room.  Jeff was lying on the bed, a beer can leaning haphazardly on the bed beside him, two more, empty, lying on the floor.

“It’s about time you got home, Rose”, he snapped. 

“Sorry”, she replied sarcastically, the smile fading from her face.  “I was working.  We had a Saudi commissioning today and I told you I would be late.”

“Did you bring me any cigarettes?” he asked angrily.

She felt annoyance begin to rise within her as she responded.  “Uh, no. I worked until after nine and I came straight home.” 

As she said this she looked around the room and noticed the ashtray was overflowing with his cigarette butts.  She hated the way he smoked his Marlboros down to the filter. She didn’t know why it pissed her off so much, just knew that it did. 

“Couldn’t you walk to the store to get some?” 

The store was only a mile away, no big distance for a corn-fed country boy, as he liked to call himself.  More like ” fucking redneck”, she thought whenever he said that.

“How was I supposed to get to the store?” he shouted.  “You had the fucking car all day!  And then you come home without any cigarettes for me?  How selfish is that?”

Now Rose was really angry, but she tried to remain calm.  Confrontations repelled her.  “Path of least resistance”, that’s me….”Sorry I had the damn car, Jeff!  Sorry I was working, but someone has to.” 

She turned away from him to put down her purse in an effort to stop herself from saying anything more.

“Oh, so now you’re giving me shit because I don’t have a job?” he yelled.  “What the fuck is up with that?  I look for a fucking job every fucking day.  Don’t you dare treat me like that, Rose.  Who do you think you are, your mom?” 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that, Jeff.  Look, I am sorry I didn’t bring you any cigarettes, but I didn’t know you needed any.  I am sorry I had the car all day, but I had to work.  I should have thought of bringing you something on my way home.  Sorry”, she mumbled, defeated. 

When anger was directed at her she just folded.  She didn’t know why she couldn’t get angry back, but she just couldn’t.  Once she had known someone with whom she could get angry because she trusted him.  She didn’t trust Jeff, though; or anyone else for that matter.

“I had to walk to Brinkman’s, Rose!  It’s a fucking mile there and a mile back!  Luckily I could stop at mom and dads on the way for a break and to get something to eat since there is never anything here in this fucking house!” 

Right, Rose thought.  You stopped at your folks’ house and then your dad drove you the rest of the way to Brinkman’s and then brought you back here.  You damn fucking liar…She said nothing, however, just stared at him.

“I can’t believe you didn’t think of me at fucking all!  So, why don’t you go to the store now?”

Rose gave up.  It just wasn’t worth the fight.  “Whatever.  I’ll go, but dammit, you are such an asshole!” she yelled as she picked up her purse and turned to leave the room. 

He was behind her faster than she could imagine.  He grabbed her arm and glared into her face; she realized for the first time that his eyes were glazed over, his pupils the size of pinpoints. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”  He whispered menacingly.

Now she was truly afraid.  “Nothing, Jeff” she said as calmly as she could.  “I’m going to the store to get you some cigarettes.  Would you like anything else?” 

She tried to sound as conciliatory as possible, tried to be soothing.

“You hate me, don’t you?” he snarled. 

“No, Jeff, I love you.”  In her head she was screaming, damn straight I fucking hate you!,  as she surreptitiously moved backwards towards the door.

“You’re a liar!” he screamed at her. 

When he lunged at her a split second later she almost got away.  She made it out the bedroom door and was nearly to the steps when he grabbed her hair and swung her around to face him. 

“You are a fucking bitch!” He yelled.  “Go get some cigarettes!” 

Then he did something he had never done before:  he hit her.  Hard. In the face.  She felt pain, surprise, and confusion as she stumbled backwards, and then suddenly she was tumbling down the stairs.  Her back, her hip, her head, all slammed repeatedly onto the wooden stairs and into the stucco covered wall.  She landed in a crumpled heap on the first floor landing.  She was never sure if she lost consciousness, but the next thing of which she was aware was looking up to see Jeff glaring at her from the top of the stairs. 

“Get me two fucking packs”, he yelled.  Then he turned and went back into the room.

Oh Christopher, she thought as the tears began to fall and the pain set in.  What have I done and why aren’t you here to save me?  A few moments later she got up and headed to the store, wanting to get there before the bruises began to show.

It’s 4:03 and I can’t sleep…

Posted in Ramblings with tags , , , , on 2010/02/06 by R L Burns

Nah, I lied.  It’s not 4:03.  It’s 4:23.  But close enough for me.  Guess I’ve been singing that Shinedown song too much. 

Not so sure, though, if the poblem is that it is four in the morning or that it is the sixth of February.  The day I got the message for which I had waited for sixteen years.  First contact from you.  Do you remember my reply?

Huh? I am nearly in tears.

And your response?

So am I.  I don’t even know where to begin…

And you know, from the beginning, there was a phrase you repeated over and over and over.  A phrase that, as a Special Education Inclusion English teacher I should have seen as foreshadowing:

No more time for lies, baby girl.

And yet, that’s all it was a time for, wasn’t it?  Lies, lies, and more lies.

(My failure to recognize the foreshadowing explains, I suppose, why I am the Special Education teacher, right?)

My head is pounding again. 

I am so annoyed.  For the past month, maybe, I had been doing really well.  I wasn’t crying everyday or anything.  Then that stupid migraine.  And then my sister being so upset.  And now:  6 February.  Oh this sucks, and I am sure that Valentine’s day will probably be unfun, too.  No great story to read, over which to sigh and smile as my heart flutters. 


Then will come 7 March.  Fucking-A.  Happy Anniversary, Baby, got you on my mind – thank you, Little River Band.

Could someone please just come knock me out so I can sleep through the next month?? 

I am running out of pain meds for the pounding in my head that never seems to truly stop…my ativan is running low for my erratic heartbeat…my body is running down from lack of good sleep…my eyes are frequently swollen from the tears I am again shedding — even in my sleep.  I hate waking up to a wet pillow.

Well.  I can handle it.  And I will be fine.  This next month will be the bad patch, I think, then I will be okay again.  I mean, hell, I’ve done this (lived in limbo without you) for more years than I haven’t (thirty-three, actually, and I’m only forty-seven), so I can make it through the rest, I suppose. 

I just have to get through the next month without cracking up again…and considering what I have managed to get through already, a month should be easy-peezy.

Yep.  Easy. 

If only I can avoid any thought of you whatsoever and if I can sleep past 4:03 more nights than not.  Damn Shinedown for putting that time in my head!! 

Why don’t I just hate you and not think of you?

Oh wait.  Again, there’s the answer: 

I‘m Special Ed

That explains it all, doesn’t it?

Gotta go.  The pain meds are calling to me….


Please Use Your Inside Voice

Posted in life story, Poetry, Ramblings with tags , , , , on 2010/01/23 by R L Burns

I can hear you, Michael…                                                                                                                                                                                              

You are sooooo loud today

Was it that you weren’t comfortable with living?

I mean,

If you’re a liar

And your life is a lie, and

Then you end up with someone 

Who can make it true, maybe

You can’t handle it because

You are so stuck in your lying-lie-face world…

You become confused, then,

Because you no longer know

What is true

And what is the lie…

So you do nothing except continue

To torture those around you

To whom you have always lied.

I wanted to help you

Did everything I could possibly

Do to help you want to live:

Stay there, come here,

Teach, repair things,

Run about with your hair on fire.

Your choice.

You said you were – and had been for so long – unhappy,

Miserable, dejected, depressed, suicidal, even.

I happily accepted the responsibility

For you,

For them,

For us.

Are you unhappy now?

I love you with all that I am

But I can’t fix any of this for you –

You won’t let me…

And you won’t fix it yourself, either.

How do you go on?

How do you live with all the lies –

Not just to me, but to those you hold most dear?

Please use your inside voice.

The pain rolling off of you

And onto me

Is crippling.

I love you enough to respect your wishes,

Love you enough to let you make mistakes.

I am here if you want me, Michael.

All you have to do is reach out.

Nothing has changed that…

Nothing  can, apparently.

But as Joe Walsh once said…

“You bought it, you name it.”