Why do we hurt the ones we love? Because they’re the only ones that will always forgive us. Now is that fair? No, it’s not at all fair. Is there a way out? The Goddess only knows. I want to do good. I want to rise above my current circumstances. I just need someone to throw me a rope because I’m drowning and I have lots of company in the waters but no hope of making it out alive. Everyone I know is drowning in the same shipwreck. It’s like the fucking Titanic. Somebody please throw me a rope. If you do, I’ll come back and rescue the rest of them, I swear. I’m drowning in debt and clutter and illness and depression and obligation and remorse. If the only way out is to peddle my one remaining asset, so be it, even if it costs me my heart’s desire or possibly my life. Better to make the gamble and maybe come away triumphant than to just die of redundancy and fatigue and hunger. I could starve myself to death more easily than most. Just a misplaced vitamin here, a lack of protein there. i could skip a certain vitamin for a few weeks and trigger a heart attack. My body chemistry is so volatile. But luckily I am fickle and my self destructive moods never last consistently long enough for me to wreak that kind of havoc. I will cheer up probably later in the day. i’ll forget. He makes me forget. He makes me smile and laugh and teaches me to make fun of my own weaknesses and brag about my strengths and see my own goodness. I need him around but not so much that I forget it’s all going to hell and I might as well jump. Maybe he does me a disservice because he makes me not want to jump. Maybe I do the same for him. Maybe we give each other false comfort when we are supposed to be being provoked into action by our misery and poverty and desperation. Sometimes making someone else happy is a sin, I think. Wanting to be happy is a sin. I don’t deserve to be happy and I know it in my bones but I crave that easy laughter like a junkie craves a fix, you can’t imagine if you’ve never felt it what it’s like to have someone look at you that way, the way he looks at me with humour and charm and irony and longing and bemusement and annoyance and camradarie and wonder all at once. Faerie lust. Seperated twin recognition. Kindergarten romance. Makes the milk leak from my breast. Makes my nerves jump. Deludes me into thinking somehow everything will be alright. But of course it won’t be. It never will be, will it? It never is.