Final, to the Cruel

You won't believe a word of it, and that's fine. I'm burying my ghosts and moving on.

It started as a simple thing. One who acknowledged the shadow and realized that something was...off.

Then you showed up. On here. I don't know how you kept finding me, and frankly, I don't care. The important part is: If you don't know what the situation, process, leash refer to: they weren't for you.

Facts:

• I always kept distance.

• I have never attempted to speak to you, outside required business.

• If I watch for you, it's because you make me genuinely uneasy.

• That was a boundary, not interest.

• There were at least five play-actors distorting things. Including one who knows me. Including recently.

• The later stuff was me trying to exit view politely.

• The man I intended to write to...knows. He also knows why I couldn't.

I said I was interested in gentle days and wild nights. Strength and softness. You seem to have genuine disdain for the gentle side. I have no problem with your lifestyle, you do you. But it was never of interest to me.

I'm sorry that I replied. At one time, your account was a "difficult muse", until I realized who you were. I'm sorry that things went sideways, in relation to it and those who pretended. I'm sorry if you felt uncomfortable as well, but the Truth is: The early months were the barest Truth. For him. Later, muses. Impossible dreams. Forbidden hope.

In Sanguine Steps,

The one who should never have posted.