The antique book I ordered from an antiquarian bookseller in Australia, to give to E as a Christmas present, arrived yesterday. I'll give it to her for Christmas still, but I wonder what she'll think of the magnitude of such a present. Much colder than I feel towards her. I think of her very warmly, if with a bit of a sting. I don't have any ill will at all, and I've mostly banished my longing feelings of a future with her.
Some small hope remains, but is just barely hanging on, and probably just as well.
For people who might like the inner me, instead of dismissing me, or judging me to be some certain person or way before they can even find out. Sometimes it seems like I'm failing in that. Maybe I'm not, and whoever is reading this is just more silent than I am. Let me know you're out there. I'll keep a candle burning in the window for you.