Well, it's over between the artist and I.
I don't really know how to talk about this right now so I'm heading to sleep. All I know is I feel shitty, I never wanted to hurt anyone, why do people act so mean when hurt? What hope is there for world peace when people who care about eachother can conjure up daggers? Recognition of my frailties and the vagaries of human nature have me exhausted. How small and fierce we are and yet how little it all matters sometimes.
In the end, I guess it couldn't last because I didn't feel that elusive sense of home.
It doesn't mean that I am not mourning, however.
I am catching myself saying things like "okay, so you learned..." and then stopping myself short when I hear bitterness. I don't want to be bitter. I want to be grateful for the chance. Caring doesn't end just because it's not a good fit. I have loved sweaters that shrunk. They didn't shrink on purpose. We all try our hardest, right? Even when we're not. Even when we're having a terrible day and we've slept 4 hours and nothing seems right, even then we're trying our hardest. Maybe especially then.
Someday I will try again. I don't know when but it doesn't matter anymore.