More Than #2

More than airing dirty laundry, I want to forgive and shake hands and walk away safely, though not so far as to forget.

More than that, I want to remember everything.

More than that, I want to be friends. I want to talk to each other, refer to each other.

More than catching my breath, I want to go through the motions, I want to feel sick and sad and then ultimately better.

More than that, I want to recognise what happened here.

More than that, I want to appreciate it.

More than that, I want to remember it as if it’s still a part of my life, not a distant, unapproachable ghost.

More than being friends, I want to acknowledge each other as a special part of both of our lives. As a chapter. As a ‘one’.

More than not wanting to lose all faith in all of that, I want you to be with me on this, just this one thing, this one last thing.

More than that, I urge you to react appropriately to the fact that I was always there fully, and would always have been.

Please, please, humour me.

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