I know neither of us ever wanted things to get this far.

I hold the pen that will sign us apart, and I wonder what brought us here.
Was it me? Was it you? Was it life? Is there even a point in assigning guilt?

Me always being busy, you feeling left behind. Your affair. My anger, my stubborn pride.
My freedom imprisoning me, once again nailed to the ground by my independence.
Dying to forgive you, but at the same time unable to.

The last flourish is done, I turn on my camera smile.

My tears will fall later.