euphues:

“Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald

Without the day-to-day contact we had in Ithaca, time we would have had over spring break and the rest of this semester (in the evenings, after work, never sacrificing progress for the relationship, letting go of the guilt that haunted him), I must have become this monster in his mind, always lamenting about how stressed I was, or screaming something at the computer screen. I have stopped myself from reacting so harshly anymore, but now he has disappeared, will not even peacefully arrange to exchange the bits we have left behind. It has been three weeks, how long does he plan to stretch out this final act? Is this the revenge he needed against the exes whom he claimed had treated him in just the way he is now treating me?