When i sought him i conceived grandiose ideas about the friendship. And in all honesty i was sincere in feeling what i did. I don't doubt my veracity but circumstances have taken a turn that undermines the confidence of my constructions. I have changed in a short while, a change i perceive to be conducive for my survival and well being. This arrival at a certain certitude is sagacious, indeed necessary. I deplore its coming into being, bemoan the indeterminacy that surrounds my resolve. Perhaps my resolve may even change. For the moment, however, it stands.
I still love this friendship. My regard is unaltered. And i don't blame him given that i anticipated and prefigured this self disillusionment. But articulating, however presciently,any misgiving does not obviate the inner tumult that ensues. And despite my well thought out and wisely formulated preconceptions i find myself at this crossroads which, with the accompaniment of other disenchantments crystallizes my sense of dismay. So this alternation between expectation and disappointment is of my own making. If i do regret anything, it is my naivete. Ingenuousness indicates an absence of guile and i resist such a foreclosure. But is a naivete naive enough given my preconception of my predicament? Language is slipping away even though it is all i have to adumbrate this narrative.
Having consciously ruminated over my situation and having importunately written to him about what might seem desperation i long for an interlude of silence, to somehow disappear from the world awhile before regrouping and re emerging. If anything, my hastiness embarrasses me. I had bethought myself to have evinced authenticity in expressing the truth of my inner disquiet. Yet such an act is irrevocable and an unconscionable demonstration of vulnerability. That he will take it in a positive spirit is clear to me. But a vestigial regret, self wrought, prompts a certain discomfiture.
I have disallowed the caprice of circumstance to irradiate any decision i should have taken. I have relinquished the possibility that a tangible explanation may exist. I have, in my eager desire to avoid dissembling, trapped myself in a cul de sac from which extrication seems difficult. But i remain hopeful that my interlocutor's wisdom shall circumvent the obstacles i seemed to have placed for myself. If i were adroit enough i could proffer a plausible reason. Indeed, in all honesty a certain inner restlessness and dismay with another interlocutor propelled me into this neediness. I ought to have arrived at my own self exoneration. Instead i sought external aid. The fear that this indicates an inner uncertainty terrifies me.
I must asseverate that no apportioning of blame shall take place. I have hitherto been unmindful of circumstances beyond my own immediate concerns. And usually this is a propensity i inveterately resist. As exculpation i adduce the implications of other extenuating circumstances as factors that augmented my frenzy. I am properly apologetic. I must resolve my inner demons by myself forthwith. This narrative, in all honesty should, i hope , be sufficient recompense.