Drawing a line

I can’t tell you what you want to hear.

I won’t.

Because it’s not okay.

A pattern has been established.

I sweep it under the rug.

Nod in sympathy.

Let it go.

But this time? Too far. Too hurtful. Too mean.

She’s a mean girl. It kills me to say it, but it’s true.

The issue in your mind isn’t the issue at all.

The exclusion is understandable. Explainable. Reasonable.

The delivery was inexcusable. Hateful. Malicious.

It was on purpose.

It was on purpose.

I can’t nod or sympathize that away.

I won’t.

I won’t justify it for her. Not to the little girl she crushed.

On purpose.

On purpose.

I don’t understand it. I can’t wrap my head around it.

You’re angry at me for being angry at her. For being angry at you.

I don’t deny it.

Agree to disagree, fine.

But there’s nothing to discuss.

You’re not owed an apology.

I stayed calm even though, on the inside, I was screaming.

You called. To what? Make yourself feel better?


My baby girl was weeping.



By her friend.

And you wanted comfort from me?




Head games.

It’s escalating. How can you not see it?

I’ve tried so hard to let it go.

Remember you’re my friend.

My neighbor.

Remember she’s just a kid.

She’s testing the waters.

I try.

I try so hard.


Yesterday crossed the line.

We can’t go back.

And for that, I’m truly sorry.




2 thoughts on “Drawing a line

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