Strange are the times I find myself in. Intentions, although well meant, often mean little—sometimes even nothing. I had intended much giving. I must have done something so wrong for this rejection. I suppose it was me thinking I am more privileged than I really am, as if I had any right to think I am more important.
Such is life. Is there truly a limited time one has to care about another? No. In spite of everything, one doesn’t need to know any details to care about anyone. Or matter. So, I will go on caring, even if it means I will do so alone. Unrequited love and care do last the longest, as dreamers know. As I know once again.
All I can do is love while I live. I’m sorry, M and J. Thank you for once believing in me. I’ll be better perhaps someday. But, if never, I meant to be. This is all I can say.
