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epistle log 40rty 8ight
make yourself
it shouldn't come as a shock: it is what i've feared for all these months. the visions that i've created, so unwillingly, that creep into my thoughts without warning are now this much more substantiated. implications and ramifications are now realities. i don't know which is more terrifying: my anxious state of speculation or my current state of shock. at times, especially now, i still make this a self-appointed burden: as if something i did, or something inherent and intrinsic in me caused this, and makes me incapable of dealing with this. but now i realize, and it is admitted, indeed if only partially, that this is not my fault. i have/had a hand in it, insofar as it is my life, but i cannot blame myself alone. and still the weight in my heart persists; indeed, it grows.
she's gone
she won't say it that way: she still softens the blow, white lies and half truths to make us both feel better. but i hear what has been said.
she's gone. she's not coming back.
all i ask for is the whole truth, no matter how painful. i need the full injury in order to rebuild. in some ways, i see that this is all i've ever wanted, since before her, before us. i wonder if i'll ever have it: the whole honest truth. and, again, i wonder if it's my fault that i've never had it.
she's gone.
i remain
10|08|01