Not my bad luck

I write with you in my mind. You sit quietly perched atop 6 years of memories. My memories, our memories, your hearthache and mine; my memory doesnt lie. I think of today and you are far away playing games, and celebrating the end of bachelorhood for a good friend. I am here writing of you and wishing for me to be just a little bit more myself. I stand by the idea that I am much better alone, I operate well when it is just me. I have a hard time with relationships, not just ours. I have put my girls in some pretty hard places as well.

As you sit and gaze upon these memories that have shaped me, shifted me, broken and rebuilt me; I ask to be understood. I will fight for what I want. I will be strong when I should know better. I should not have entered in when you were not ready. I focused so much time trying to make you ready that I lost my way. I still fought and strained, just for all of the wrong things. I should have fought for us in the longrun not in the shortrun. I understand now. Do you?

The mirror in Heathers bathroom just fell off the wall. I called my mom to make sure that the bad luck is not mine. Since i was not in the room nor was I responsible for it, the bad luck is not mine, she says. I hang up the phone, I am still nervous.