I'm tired of rising about my basest nature. To be kind. To understand. To forgive.

I taste salt and bile. My face feels tight and hard. My eyes are worn and raw.

You left me to die and didn't look back. How many women? How many have you done that to and never looked back? How many times have you sailed away scott free because these women didn't know how to exact retribution? You never gave them the tools. You never allowed them the fairness of destroying your life as much, if not more, than you have destroyed theirs.

It doesn't even matter how many. The fact that you can do it to even one person says enough.

I've been to the brink and made it back. I hesitate to say made it back because there is still so much to do. I've never been that close though. I've given up so much to gain so little.

My actions hinge upon the words of a fifty year old black woman I fully intend to call this evening. You would do best to hope she has more kindness in her heart for you than I now have after six months.

If she does not:

I'm telling, Rob.