How are you? I understand you are mad and maybe you hate me. I do understand and i accept. However, as much as i understand i will say a few things. I did like you. Very much. I was however hurt and you knew this. My hurt held me back so when you asked me out, i did panic. I didnt know. I liked you but also, i was afraid i would hurt you. I was holding unto a past i didnt know how to let go of. You loved me so deep i was afraid if i didnt return it, you would break, if i gave it you would still break. You cant pour from an empty Jar. I however broke you still. Healing didnt come immediately as expected, i couldnt pour from my empty cup its why i asked for time. My way to the well wasnt easy as much as it was short, i took my time because my feet hurt terribly, they still bled from the glass cuts i got in prison. I stayed at my well until i was able to walk again. Its then that i came home. But when you said “there’s home is no more”… its then that i panicked again. How? what? why? when? What had happened to home, you refused to explain. Should i have stayed and waited for the well to come, or for a good samaritan to help fill my jar? I walked about the streets wondering. Maybe i wasnt meant to have a home. (that felt like the perfect excuse and i believed it). I knew i messed up so i made my life on the streets and its at those streets that i wondered and found my way home.
I am sorry i messed up, i messed you up, i messed me up. But no one has ever poured from an empty jar especially when faith was frail. I hope you found your way home.