I’ve written, re-written, and re-re-written this letter probably over 20 times only to store it away for another day. Some mythical day when I’m strong enough to write without breaking down completely, when I can stay firmly rooted in my anger towards you and what you’ve done.
Yet somehow here I am, in tears (again), sitting down on the floor of the women’s locker room at a hot yoga place writing this letter because I can’t even make it through a single class, a class that I so desperately wanted to take, because of you and that night.
So instead of sweating through the heat and aches, I left midway to cry in the locker room before finally resolving to write because I’m afraid that if I don’t, the thoughts will eat me alive, from my heart.
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