it’s my own fault really. i accept the blame for that. it’s not as if you just happened into my home one day. i invited you in….and i didn’t even just invite you….no, i have to acknowledge that i sought you out. i had been looking for you for quite some time….even before i knew who you were. and once i found you, or thought i found you, i made it perfectly clear that i wanted you to visit me here and that you could stay for as long as you wanted.
once you were here, i did everything within my power to make you comfortable. to enable your ease of sliding completely into my world, i showed you all of those things which i hold closest to me. my treasures. my most cherished belongings. i see now that i shouldn’t have done that. how absolutely silly of me to believe that just because i held these things in such a light, that you would too. and so their loss and destruction is on my head. i should never have been so careless as to give them over without foreseeing what would inevitably happen. but i draw the line at these admissions of guilt. i cannot accept any more.
now here you stand with your suitcases and tell me that you want to come back for a visit. oblivious to the destruction that you left behind, unaware that a shrug attached to an “i’m sorry” couldn’t ever cover the costs. and you tell me that you simply cannot understand my hesitation at the thought of you as a house guest. i watch you while you sit there staring at the fortified cases which hold the shattered remains of my treasures and i can easily see that you cannot comprehend the security.