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July 14, 2007

Stark

Sweet and beautiful things.
Those who care for your well being.
Someone to hold you when your body hurts.
To laugh together at funny scenes in movies.
No pain.
Look out and just see openness.
Meet someone and not doubt.
Laugh.
Cook
Want to eat
Sleep peacefully

Run, run, run, run, run to that place where it all ends. Where it stops. Where I can rest. And not worry. Or hurt. Or pine for what I don’t know…not even sure anymore. A year has gone by. So much has changed. July 10th, she died. 120 per minute the heart beat. Normal and healthy. Normal and healthy. Nothing is.

And why? For who? For what? Is it a joke? Who’s it on? I am sitting here. Just sitting here. Unable. To? Just unable. Gnaws and gnaws and gnaws. A year. Already?

First Golu, now Loona. How many more? But it does not go. The guilt. Or the need to love. To give. Because sometimes, often, it chokes me. Like now it’s bottled inside, making breathing difficult. My eyes hurt.

It was all so sacred. What did I trade it for? For who? For what?

“I am sorry I could not give you’ll everything…” he said.

Why? I did not think like that. Not once. Not once. Why break me now? My not asking is not blaming you. But don't you see I cannot depend. On anyone.

I never read Virginia Woolf. Mrs Dalloway scares me. If I read Virginia, I know what will happen.

2 comments:

& said...

Mrs. Dalloway nor The Waves won't kill you. The diaries are "worse"... Virginia knew

Another clit said...

I was here last night.Came back to leave some words.Read it all.Good to know you.Very good read too.
Takecare