I broke up with Jeff 22 days ago. We got back together for one week. It was a miserable failure. I cannot believe that he thought it might really work out. Maybe if he had wanted it to, he might've made more of an effort. I was, the whole time, so unsure. When it was obviously a flop, what would he expect me to do? Maybe he could actually talk to me sometimes, but I guess that was too much to ask. I guess *I* was the one who had to be a martyr, not him, right? I was the one who had to do things that made me unhappy, right? No. I don't think so. Jeff made no effort to make it work. Hugs are nice, but they do nothing to repair.

If I was slipping and you did not reach out your hand, I can do nothing.

Now, dear readers, don't think that I'm regretting everything. I'm simply replying to a comment.