The You That I Knew

I.

So it seems that you didn't tell me, or anyone else, everything about you. You owe me no explanation, and I am neither disappointed or surprised. We do this thing alone, all of us, and how you walk your road is yours. I am fortunate for having walked a piece of it with you, am better for having known a part of you, and though still alone - I was somehow less so then. You're gone now, and I am still walking. What I know doesn't matter.

II.

I'm not angry with you, that's what I was trying to say, but I am worried. I'm worried that for all those years you kept a secret because you thought I'd think less of you if I knew the truth. Didn't you know it would have made no difference to me? But then you told me more than once you always hated labels and avoided using them on anybody. Then again you just might have thought it was none of my damn business, and that's cool too. What makes me sad is the possibility that maybe you were more like me than I knew - locked up inside, secretly looking in through cold glass, one thousand miles distant - and that would be a damn shame.