Last night I said something that wasn't very nice. It might have even been mean. And I don't truly believe it. But I truly feel it.
I didn't want to say it. I tried to not say it. But, after a long time of thinking it (probably longer than I want to admit), I was pushed into giving it voice.
It hurt me to say it. It broke my heart to say it. But I did not cry. I've cried too much about it already.
I think it hurt to hear it, too. He didn't cry, either. He's cried too much, too. It made him think, though. I know he's heard it before, from people he used to know. But I think he's changed enough since that time that he really heard it this time.
I don't know what happens next; what changes, if anything changes. The changes aren't mine to make.
But it's out there. And it's good that it's out there, I think. Or at least it will be, at some point.
Today has progressed just like any other Sunday, aside from a slightly teary moment this morning. Cookies are in the oven. Soup is on the stove.
We're moving forward. Again.