i was scared, and then mad. i felt like something was watching me...something evil. he said on the phone, among other things, "you think you're gonna save the world".
i don't see what difference it would make if i had the pages anyway. i spent days writing them, and toiling over them. transferred them to pretty stationery. then watched the pages fold up on themselves and the stationery packaging shrink, on it's own, on my coffee table, to the point where the envelopes were being thrust out the open end of the package.
i asked if that meant that i wasn't supposed to send the writing. it was a poem in the form of a letter. the answer i got was "yes".
so i went upstairs to take a nap, and i was awoken by the phone. it was my ex, scaring the shit out of me.
and i went back downstairs, gathered up all the papers, and my carton of smokes, and burned them.