Eleven Miles

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Remastered Edition


Confession #1

Shell Out

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Rachel and I stopped getting along a few months ago, sad to say, and I think it’s too late for us to return to the old ways. If I’m wrong, I hope she’ll tell me, but for now, I think we’re screwed.

Our shift toward mutual dislike happened out of nowhere, but I’m not sure how or when. I do have a theory, one that may need some thought. Kind of a dumb reason to fight if that’s what had caused it, though. But I could be wrong. I just know the first spark of our disagreement didn’t ignite over television or pizza or anything too stupid. Without a thorough investigation, however, I cannot base my assumptions on anything but assumptions, and that boils my idea down to a circular argument, or maybe even one of those twisted Mobius strips I make out of packing tape every time I try to seal a box. Those are fun to untangle, aren’t they?

I suppose the actual catalyst to our new paradigm came to us through other catalysts. That’s generally how these things work. Maybe nothing is truly as simple as the surface suggests. I mean, who’d guess just by looking at the naked ocean that it’s seven miles deep in places? The weight that must press against the bottom, and all the junk that must float in between—

In truth, the signs of our impending clash were ambivalent, and they could’ve begun long before the incident that ruptured us. But the important thing is we hit the wall. And regardless which roads we were taking back then, we’ve certainly found our way onto a broken one now.

I wish we’d never gotten to this point.