There’s a group of peo­ple I once knew well, past the bar­ri­ers of for­mal­ity and beyond any bound­aries of unac­cep­tance. Unfortunately, cir­cum­stances didn’t go our way, and I had to leave. It may have been con­sid­ered a self-imposed exile, but exile sounds so severe. Leaving was the only thing that I could think of. I’ll be hon­est and say that I don’t know from what I was running.

I just know that I was run­ning. I just know that I needed to get away, to dis­tance myself from some of the only peo­ple who have ever treated me with respect. From some of the only peo­ple who have ever treated me like fam­ily. With no expla­na­tion, I left, and they have every right to never speak to me again.

Now, years later, I find myself miss­ing what I had. How selfish.

Perhaps it was the com­mit­ment. Perhaps it was my intol­er­ance. Perhaps I was try­ing to pro­tect oth­ers from get­ting too attached. Most likely, it was a com­bi­na­tion of every­thing. I won’t say that I made a mis­take, because I make my deci­sions based on lim­ited knowl­edge and cur­rent, unde­vel­oped wis­dom. I will, how­ever, apol­o­gize and admit that I’m sorry. Sorry for ever caus­ing any sort of pain, to the last peo­ple in the world who ever deserve it.

This is me at my most humble.