Unopened Email (short story)

Your email just got through to me. Written three days ago, I still haven’t opened it. I know what it will say. My mouse flutters over it, wanting to open, but I want a few more minutes without guilt. Such a shame. You wanted to see me. I mean a lot to you. And I intentionally avoid you. Don’t let me meet your unjudging eyes: stop worshiping me, I am not worth it.

The pressure of meaning something. To know that you aren’t that flawed figure that stares back at you in the mirror, but rather a figment of anothers imagination. Against all the odds, I lived up to what you wanted of me. And we had some amazing times. Is it weakness that I want out, or strength. No matter what, I am unhappy, and you are unhappy, but still my path goes unaltered.

People change. You’re older then you were. I’m less then I was. How can I remember what we were to each other, when if we meet, I can see my emancipation reflecting from your eyes. I’ve tried hard to live well, and not everyone is meant for happiness. Maybe I spent my best hours making your best hours. Maybe the well is dry. Please, don’t judge me, please, do judge me, please, just make everything not exist. Why, of all the dreams, must this be reality.

Likely you think nothing. Regret in the simplist form, just wondering if I’ve become to good for you. Like perhaps somehow this is your fault. I can feel the lashes that should strike me. My mind is flailed. It is all me. It is all me. It is all me. So please. I cannot tell you, but I can wish it: be happy, and live on, and keep the time when I was most alive, alive in your memories. May the despot I slink towards, never, never, touch those memories.

So I won’t open your email. I so want to. Test myself, maybe I haven’t become what I fear. But take the step forward, and there is no back. I lived. Nobody can say otherwise. You watched me. You are the proof. Life happened here. That is more then some say. I will try to be fortunate.

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