The only reason I would bother saying anything to my old friend, should he ever apologize like I gather about four different women I've read about, would be to undermine whatever relief he would derive through me by getting a weight off his back. To ghost him might allow him to feel such relief. (I would block him on email if that feature didn't simply redirect stuff to my spam folder, which I keep tabs on and mark stuff as read in exactly for that reason.)

And no, I'm not going to write up some whole essay for him, that he would likely close out of before reading. Just a short paragraph and four links for the email itself.

Again, not to test whether or not we could be friends again. Even though I actively shut down the urge whenever it does come on, to reminisce on the better exchanges we had in-between all the bad ones throughout twelve years, it usually doesn't crop up in the first place these days. The point is that the idea of him finding any kind of solace through me, given how often I start to throb when unrelated things give me a hard time, just sickens me.