4/12/2015 in The Thing

In the past. In the other thing. “You” was sometimes a specific. And, in retrospect, it was a selfish specific. It’s wasn’t fair and it wasn’t healthy to put so much on one person, my stupid emotional burdens. Especially someone probably as damaged as I am/was/am.
Now, that person is missing. Lost in the digital playground that ------- openly loathed. I’m glad for the specific that I’m not there, as inconsequential as I hope I was, to further inflict.

But, I do miss the inspiration. And I miss the understanding. I’m too much of an open, unread book these days.

There was another, once, who bought into the whatever mystery I supposedly presented. It didn’t take that myth to unravel. And I can’t be put back together for her. I’m undone. And that, too, is fine.

I keep on typing. Even after the sabbatical. Even with this thing or the last thing or the future thing.
I’ll keep on typing.