Or maybe it’s not fair to say I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.

Maybe it was more that I was afraid that if I talked about it, I’d find how little there was to say, the words crumbling in my mouth. How impossible it was to explain why I couldn’t stop.

Because obviously, I needed to stop.

Yet I couldn’t. It was inevitable, like magnets.

That’s an excuse. That’s the truth.

I still can’t explain how both of those things can be true at the same time.