I'm sorry. I should be glad you're back. You're home. And I am. I know I don't show it. But everything is so jumbled up, anger is the easiest to handle. It's easier to be mad at you than it is to admit I want to laugh and cry and split apart in a thousand different pieces and go flying off into space. But instead I do the typing equivalent to yelling. I don't doubt you hear it ringing in your ears even if I'm not really saying anything.
But you don't ruin things. And I'm sorry I've made you feel that way.
There are choices you've fought with me over, you know. The Night Watchman, living in the castle instead of out galavanting in the wood with you... just to name two. And forgive me if I've missed it a little. The anger in your voice is much easier to deal with than the sorr
Of course. I want that more than anything.
And... I'm not saying your right, or I'm wrong, or any of that so... No smugness.