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I dig through my closet, trying to unearth a writing for research. I sit cross-legged on the floor, pulling out journals one at a time. And I see what my life was like back then. A kaleidoscope from that season. A multitude of colorful glass, sharp-edged, from the old relationships of my life.

The first, a friend. An interest of mine, but in other ways, not. Mostly, I enjoyed spending time with him. Though sometimes, I wondered what it would be like to be his girlfriend.

He asked what my number was. I had asked why, and said I didn’t text guys a lot. He said he’s a man, not a guy. Told him he’s a guy, and not be snickety. And said no to the number.

Later, as I fought the drama surrounding me, I wrote:

I refuse to be a mess, scared, or act out of others’ opinions or whims. Choose your own fate. 

The final one, before I left. An interest. So similar to me. Almost. And in other ways, so very different. He’d never been beyond his Shire. And I’d been to Mordor and back. 

He tells me to stop pursuing him, then stares at me during church services. He has a divided mind, and confuses me. 

He was staring at me during service, and it made me very upset.

He told me to leave him alone. I ruined the friendship, didn’t I?

Why do I have such a horrible time with guys? And friends. Why can’t I find a home?

Repentance isn’t “I’m sorry.” Repentance is change. When guys say “I’m sorry” but don’t change, they’re not changing, they’re just solving things temporarily. 

 

A conclusion:

Life: Falling apart. Reforming. Then falling apart again. 

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