This is an irrational post.

But I’m allowed to be irrational as the final hours of Pi Day dwindle.

I’m divided.

Part of me wants to forget the past. Forget us. The messages. Everything. Shred. Eradicate. Delete.

And forget the last eight words I sent you. They were meaningless. Did I seriously send a correction? Relating to a documentary I re-watched – ironically, related to Pi? That smart ass, late night message was met with well-deserved silence.

The other part wants to reach out. Because I need advice. Guidance. An ear – or in this case – notes on a screen. I’m petrified. And I need your positivity. Wisdom. Reassurance. Clarity. Because my mind is cluttered. And I’m drowning in a pool of confusion and unfocusness. Those eight words? They weren’t even close to what I wanted to say. Yet, in my infinite wisdom, I sent them.

But tonight I’m sailing in a sudden s**t storm, and I’m not sure how to navigate the waves.

Maybe you’re distancing yourself because I triggered the past. Our past was complicated and – for you – painful. And for me, but that’s besides the point. And you’d rather not have a constant reminder of what happened. Because you can move on with your life.

You really have. You’re the epitome of the Frozen soundtrack, and I’m Simple Mind’s “Don’t You Forget About Me” on repeat. Let’s agree, that was the best song from The Breakfast Club.

This is where I vent. It’s my semi-private platform. It’s no secret that over the last year, my life has been an emotional roller coaster. Everything seemed easier when I was sixteen. Or seventeen. High school. College. But that’s hindsight. Which, lately, is my favourite place.

Letting go has never been one of my strong suits. Not in any facet of my public or private life.

And sometimes, it can feel like infinity.