How to say goodbye

I’ll explain the vials in a moment. But first, I want to note that this is not a how-to. See? The only category down there is “story time”. It’s because I don’t know how to say goodbye.

The vials contain grave dirt from Oscar Wilde and Frédéric Chopin, respectively. They were from a friend. He asked me whose grave I would most like to visit at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, and I mentioned them. So, braving the scorn of other gravesite visitors, he scraped some dirt from each of their graves into little baggies for me.

These vials are more or less all that I have left from that friendship. He is no stranger to cutting people out of his life completely, and I knew that all along. I hope it’s indifference rather than some unforgivably offensive thing I said, but knowing me, it’s probably the latter.

Once in a while I glance at the vials and feel nostalgic. You know nostalgia — this funny fuzzy fondness for a golden moment that never actually existed. The edge of glory, and all that. I guess this post can be my goodbye. I hope you’re well, and that you’ve merely forgotten about me. Don’t hold on to the unpleasant words of this silly girl, especially if they upset you.

Regards, and all the best,
Dolly

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