Wish

When I thought about you, I held no ill-wish. Sometimes I wondered if I would see you, riding the trax, solitary, lost in thought. Every time I passed city center a small thought of hope that you were ok crossed my mind, remembering walking city creek.
It was nice, at least to know, that you were alive. Craving some small message of progress, I tried to decipher, but a block is a block. I had no way of knowing, except in small interchanges in which your side was blind, non-existent.
That day I cried. I knew that this would hurt, but I just couldn't. I couldn't pretend like I was happy. I cried because I had never done that to someone before, never hurt them so deeply. I was proud of my ability to sever ties, the strength to speak my mind. I was glad, in this scenario, that the will not to hurt was overtaken. The struggle inside me was intense, which is why weeks had turned into months of indecision.
It was really your bitterness and ill will towards me that sealed the deal.
I realized I had made the right choice.
So now, a year later, I hoped you had forgiven me, and held none of the bitterness in your heart, although I would understand if you did. I wondered at a chance encounter, but I knew it was too unlikely. So instead, every time I chanced to thing on you, I hoped that life had made a turn for the better.
I sent you a silent wish of hope. Selfishly maybe, so I no longer had to feel bad about what had transpired. All the same, a wish is a wish, and it couldn't hurt.