But my head is throbibing from a really nasty cold and there are three assignments due. I also owe you an Invisible, Inc. page. So let me post that in a few minutes, and let this suffice for your Prose Wednesday entry.
Love is a drug, and there’s only one dealer.
I’ve lost the best thing that ever happened to me and I have no idea why. I gave up literally everything because I was asked to, and as far as I can guess, lost my luster in giving it up. Things won’t be right in my head for years.
I’m really not complaining (though I have), just acknowledging the way the world is these days. Pursuant to that, sometimes I have to pretend like I’m not jumbled and broken inside.
So there it is. Life will proceed apace, but I think it’s important enough to deserve some acknowledgement. I’m only being honest here because most people I meet will figure I’m doing pretty well, which is how I’d prefer it. The two qualities I want from myself right now are enough loyalty to my past to feel the loss, and enough functionality in the present to hide it and do a great job.
I don’t like making it public, but half the reason I write is the feeling that, in committing thoughts to letters, they’re made more real. That I’ve lost something that will never come again nor ever be exceeded is my Great Belief. Maybe one day it will be replaced, or transformed, as it did to arrive in its present state.
But till then, this is killing me, and that’s kind of okay. Because I’m getting angry, and I’d rather be dead than grow to hate someone I once loved.