Handwritten Journal
Chantal and I did not talk for a few days after our questionable text message exchange. I was worried. I let it be. In time, we talked again. This time, we were both, for sure, sober.
Responsible, too.
She had a meaningful conversation with her husband. She had a meaningful conversation with me. I relapsed in my writing and was not honest with myself. I said everything was fine and all weirdness was gone. While true, I did not write about her apology for acting the way she did, her firm stance on us as friends, and all the crying I did in the hallway of my apartment shortly after.
Worse, I found a new replacement for the chasm in my heart. For someone as lonely as me then, the slightest act of kindness from a lady was enough to trigger unhealthy obsession. The last thing I needed was a relationship.
