Now it’s just lingering, hanging on by a thread. I wonder when it will totally end? When will it break? When will it really be over?

I can’t say but I will be prepared and I’ll smile and laugh and cry—sometimes happy tears—often they’ll be sad but I won’t be sad long the sadness I’ll feel when it’s really over will be momentary. I’ll get better and stronger and move on and meet people and like men and be loved and fall in love. And you? I don’t quite know where you’ll be or how you’ll turn out but you probably won’t be a friend of mine. You’ll be nothing more than a memory, some time I spent, some time I wasted. We probably won’t speak candidly ever again, there will always be too much tension to be candid. Whatever the case, I’ll still be me, just as bright and bubbly as I’ve always been sometimes overwhelmed by emotion but over all just fine. I imagine you’ll be in the same state of denial you’ve always been in. You’ll still be neurotic, insecure and complacent I suppose but you’ll continue to deny all this, like you always have. You’ll probably deny me and deny what we both know it was but again you always have been in denial about me.  

An excerpt from A Work In Progress