whoops. last night i dreamed of someone from twenty-four summers ago, who ghosted me years before that word was even coined. i come down into the basement at my childhood house. they're there, sitting on the old, tweedy couch. i say, i'm finally willing to talk to you.
i wake up, upset. these are old wounds and they're closed, but an old wound is still a wound. after i found out what went on, i promised myself i'd never reach out again, and i never have.