I know you don’t want to be friends. I know you don’t want to talk to me. I know, in the end, I’m nothing to you. But even so, I’m glad you’re happy. I’m glad you’re in love, that you’re not the person I feared you might become. Thank God for that. I’m so grateful you aren’t drifting, meeting men at bars and living that disgusting life. Knowing you’ve found someone to love brings me some peace, even though it breaks me to know you don’t love me.
It hurts beyond words to accept that, but in a strange way, it’s freeing. There’s nothing to hold onto anymore. No illusions. You don’t love me, and you never will, and I have to move on.
And I will. I’m going to keep working on Meepcow. I’ll pick up where I left off before we met, before everything went off track. I know you don’t care about it anymore, I know we didn’t mean much in the end, but still, I hope that one day you’ll follow what I’m doing, maybe show some support. At least let me know I was good enough for that.
I made my first map of places to see. Today, I’m heading to Abbeville. I have to check on Mom’s house—the tenants told me there’s a leak in the roof. So while I’m there, I’ll take some pictures. I want to get back into the rhythm of photographing something every week, keeping this project alive.
Next month, I’ll finally get to stay at the Breeden Inn again. I found the exact same room we had all those years ago, the first night we spent together. It was such a romantic night—or at least, I thought it was. I doubt you remember much of it now. But I’ll recount the whole thing when I’m there, for myself, for closure.
There’s so much to do today. I’d better get started. I’m excited and a little scared about starting my new job tomorrow. I think this is the first real step towards becoming someone—towards being successful and noticeable, toward leaving this part of my life behind.