It’s sad, like sickness in the pit of my stomach, to realize I don’t care about you anymore. It doesn’t matter what you say, what you do. Like any great tragedy, you’re mine no-longer-mine. I used to exist only after reading how you were existing. Perhaps it would require a scientific explanation, who knows.
Lately I’ve been practical. My son survived heroin addiction. My daughter, nineteen now has survived successive poses of “good daughter”. My marriage is broken, beyond repair. I wonder, how many people contemplate social service as I do. And is the field as satisfying to them as it is to me? I find human psychology full of gross mistakes. I find love as simple as a brush of moonlight across a second-hand kitchen table.
I was born at the tail end of the sixties. Freedom is something I’ve always been taught yet never understood.
Forgive me. I loved you because of my attitude. I refused to be sidelined into a crowd of onlookers. I loved you because I believed in you. I loved you for my own ideas about nobility and achievement.
The Amnesty compilation has its moments.
The songs remind me of you when I was first learning of you.
I will always love you. Ask any eternal god.
Lisa, I get it. The first paragraph describes a situation of mine, and I am beginning to get through the no-longer stage without quite as much nausea as before.
Best wishes for your holidays, not-holidays, and for making it through winter.
R