Goodbye

I had a decision to make, and I told Austin what it was. Then, we drove. Away from the trigger, towards great destiny. Yet it wasn't some Shakespearean tragedy, or another therapist's office, or some exploration of the great unknowns of the universe. War awaited me on the battlegrounds. Something scarier than what any change could do: the possibility that it might always stay the same, that my efforts would always and forever mean nothing. But something felt completed, like the threads had tied off. A voice far beyond that of my tiny person told me that it was up to me now. I could fix this on my own terms, whatever that means.

Unfortunately, I don't have much else to tell you. My story must end sometime. And I think it's better this way, for you to think up your own ending and I'll decide for myself what mine looks like. I'd like to leave you in the comforts of fiction for once. Reality has no place on a page.

I don't mean to undermine your accomplishment in all of this. You made it. I told you that I am not your friend, but you're still here. You're loyal, and I'm sure that is going to mean something to someone someday. It was nice getting to know you, I'm sure. But I have to go now.

Because this isn't your life. It's mine. And I was going home.