I dreamt of you again yesterday.
Typically these dreams comprise of a "final conversation," wherein you're either calmly explaining that it truly is the end, or you're calling me all the names we know I deserve. This one was different.
This was probably the first dream that, while about you, you weren't actually in. Not more than a name and an idea, at least. I was in your neighborhood by chance, passing by your place, and your folks waved me over. Your step-dad told me to make things right, handed me two Red Vines, and said they should help.
I don't even know if you like Red Vines.
I woke up and immediately tears were rolling. I wished it could be that simple. Wished things had never gone the way they did.
I wished I had never treated you the way I did.
Part of me actually hoped that the dream was a sign from God. So shortly after noon, I actually drove over to your place and knocked on the door. Twice, even. No answer. But in the perhaps 90 seconds I stood on your porch, waiting, hoping, my heart was pounding. I was petrified. I wondered if you'd open the door only to slam it in my face, or what I'd say if we actually talked like I wanted to.
I couldn't even look at the door as I waited, so ashamed of what I'd done.
It's been eleven months since our falling out. Ten since you blocked me. Yet the pain I still sometimes feel, in the quiet moments when I have the time to let myself feel, is still almost as bad as the first moment I realized you didn't find me worthy of a second chance.
No measure is adequate to show how much that stings every time, after five years spent as close as we were. At the same time, though, I can't blame you, because every fiber of my being knows I deserved it. I don't deserve grace or mercy, only exactly what I got. My behavior was detestable.
I hope you're well, Beth. Your happiness and health are still two of my most frequent prayers. And if this ever finds its way onto your computer screen...
Just know that I hold nothing against you at all for how things turned out, and that I am truly sorry.