As much as she wanted to patch things up, she was not willing to revert to the kinds of writing that she did not enjoy reading again years after the fact. She did not want to write Atlas a letter. Because he did not write back.
Her soul had felt like it was bleak as a wasteland for most of the day, so she didn’t have a lot in her tank to give.
She was grateful for his friendship, and despite some of the things she had read about other people’s theories of relationships over the weekend she felt quietly hopeful that he cared for her, and about their connection. She felt it was up to him to let her know if it was true.
