I spent the last two hours writing to you.
It’s long and drawn out and I’m not going to post it here. It was an attempt to make sense of the last year of my life. But after I wrote it and tied it up all nice and pretty with a shiny red bow, I realized I wasn’t really interested in making sense of the last year of my life.
Why do we feel the need to make sense of things?
Sometimes things just don’t make sense.
You can find an answer or a reason for anything but it’s not always the right answer or the real reason. It’s just a thing we latch onto to make ourselves feel better.
To ease our load just a little bit.
The truth is, I’m not interested in easing this load yet.
When the load eases so do my memories and thoughts of you.
Maybe none of it was real for you.
Maybe you made the whole thing up.
It was real to me.
I loved you.
And that’s all that truly matters in the story of my life.
Stephanie loved Noah.
Once Upon A Time.