“The more it changes, the more it’s the same thing.” — Alphonse Karr
I held the note in my hands. It was written on notebook paper and it was folded into one of those neat little square “envelopes”. It looked just like every note she had slipped into my locker when we were still in high school.
That was the problem: she was 42. We weren’t in high school anymore. Yet the note was folded and read like something straight out of my adolescence. To say it was a little disturbing would be putting it mildly. It was the usual sort of thing: “Hi, how are you doing, do you want these pictures, I want to be friends again,” that sort of thing. It was cheerful and friendly and not the least bit threatening.
That was the problem. I’ve seen that sort of note–and behavior–from her before. It was the exact same thing as the last time and the time before and the time previous to that…
I’ve been down this road. Multiple times, I’ve done this same dance so many times. I can’t do it anymore. I’m exhausted, tired in a way that fills me like my bones.
I know how this will end. I know the way things will go. I’m not doing this anymore. I know the steps and I’m tired of the same old music. It’s time to move on from this and I know it.
As for the pictures: yes, I feel a little bit badly about them. I don’t like the idea of anything being tossed away. But it is ultimately her decision and not mine. I can’t force her to keep them just as she can’t force me to take them. That’s the way of things.
If she contacts me again: I’ll post an update on Blogger. It won’t be particularly pretty but it should get the point across. But that will only happen as a last resort. I don’t want this to go any further; I’ve gone far enough for far too long now.
