Cogs can think.

I don’t talk about what happened on St. Patrick’s Day, 4 years ago. Which is weird - what happened then had little to do with actions or wrongdoings on my end. Yes, it may not have been one of my finest moments, but considering the circumstances, I kept it together fairly well.

Today I was more or less forced to lift the curtain a little bit, as my best friends wanted demanded to know why I didn’t feel like tagging along to the Irish pub tonight. I didn’t want to tell them anything, but they just kept on guessing, and just to satsify their hunger for information (and possibly, something to hold against me in the future - I don’t blame them, I would’ve done the same thing) I fed them little bits of information on what happened.

So, then, I hear you think, what the hell happened? There are a few who know the details. Well - no, that’s incorrect. There’s one who knows the details. Renate knows what happened; Renate knows the months leading up to that St. Patrick’s Day, and more importantly, Renate knows the girl involved, who we aptly refer to by just the first letter of her name.

For some reason, referring to her by just a single letter makes it all just that tad bit more acceptable.

There is a small chance she’s reading this - I don’t think she does, but hey, who knows. Let me just assure everyone that I hold no grudges, no ill will. People make mistakes, and probably the biggest mistake can be attributed to me: I let it last for far longer than I should have. And in a way, that allowed it to explode in the way it did.

And I hope I learned from that.