Proud of myself, I asked if she had checked out the link. She said no so easily. She didn’t understand the significance. The years of history between us made for an excuse of carelessness. Or simply, she really didn’t care.

I poured myself out for the world to see. The glass no longer half full or half empty, it’s just half me. She didn’t realize I no longer shared myself with her as I once had. I’ve grown to hold some feelings in, fear of judgment or something like that.

Texting my mom, I told her what happened. Letting my disappointment flow through my fingers. The carelessness hurt more than I had expected. I told her it wasn’t stomach twisting but I still felt it. That I didn’t think people were actually reading, she responded quickly to catch her baby’s broken heart before it touched the ground. “People are reading it and gives a fuck if she doesn’t. Keep writing people will read it.” The jolt I didn’t realize I needed brought life back into me.

Writing eases my stress, self diagnosed anxiety. The carelessness someone had towards my excitement, reminds me that something’s are just meant for me. Not everyone will understand the significance. Others may enjoy them but in the end it is all on me.

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