i still don’t know

if it’s safe for us to talk.  i still love you.

i still wish we could be friends, sometimes.  you certainly knew how to remind me of how capable i am, how sexy i look in dresses, and how there’s nothing wrong with being myself.  that was you at your best: bright, visionary, revolutionary love personified.
but at your worst, you were callous and crass, inconsiderate, ruthless, bordering on inhumane.
i loved you despite, but had to turn my back. i couldn’t do it anymore.
and now, here i am. years later. dreaming about you.  again.
i pray for your peace of mind, that you have found the happy medium from which you were so far removed.
maybe we can talk again one day, when it’s not about ego or stature.  it can be about love. i would welcome that. 
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