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  • I fell in love with this girl once..well more than once...more than one girl not the same girl over and over. At least I think it was love. Thought it was love. So anyway..

    …this girl it didn’t end so well. Shocking I know, okay given what my life was like ...what I was maybe not so much.

    What was it like? Let's not get into that, another time maybe. Course she didn't cross my path by living a life virtue, but then who does?

    They say there is a crack in everything God made. A crack the runs through everything. For whatever reason that girl fit right into the crack that ran through me and I let her in. I thought her love was a balm to heal me. For a time perhaps she was. Her leaving was a wedge driven into the deepest reaches of my already broken being.

    I shattered.

    I was scattered across a wasteland of my own making. No part of me was left whole. For a time I was at loss of how to cope. Then I began doing the only thing I could do.

    I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote.

    Letters her of course. I had no intention of ever sending them to her. I was just trying to pick up the pieces of me and put them back together as I was able. There were a lot of pieces.

    Drunk, high on whatever, maybe even sober, I doubt it. I was never sober in those days.

    I don't know how long it went on. Weeks for sure. Was it a healthy experience? I don't know I don't think obsession ever is, but I do know I admitted a lot about myself in those letters, came face to face with those things for the first time in my life. Not saying I really dealt with them, know we are where we are when we’re there.

    When it was all done I was spent and at loss of what to do with those fragments of me, so yeah I gathered them together mailed them.

    I didn't think it would make her come running back, well I hope I didn't think that. Cause of course she didn't. I don't even know if she read any of it. Most of all I think I just wanted rid of it. Those broken pieces of me.

    It would be nice to say that I was a free man after that. That my demons stopped hounding my every step. Didn't work that way. The years that came after were some of the worst of my life. This wasn't the story of that hell. This was the story of when I mailed pieces of me to someone who probably never cared. And today I’m okay with that. It's just another piece of me, not who I am.
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