Sat, Jan. 14th, 2017

scarlettina: (Trouble get behind me)
In the service of . . . I don't know, some idea that maybe I could do something beautiful with the words of someone gone, I opened her Live Journal to read it. Her voice is so clear that I can hear it like she's just in the next room, like I could just walk in and start having a conversation with her. I miss her. I miss her laugh. She mentions people that it's hard for me to read about. I'm never mentioned. I know I mattered. Well, I believe I did. I have to believe I did. Maybe I was fooling myself all that time.

I can't believe that. That way lies madness. Perhaps in a very real sense.

But I realize that I can't do this art thing I was thinking of doing. It would hurt too much. It would hurt for what I've lost: friendship, love, opportunities to build new things. I'm finally at a place where I'm not longing to go back to bed all day long. I was feeling strong today. Now I'm feeling helpless and pointless and like I was wishing for things I was naive to wish for. Things Providence doesn't seem to think I'm worthy of.

What a bad idea that was. I can't do that again.


scarlettina: (Default)

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