The incision on my face stings. It's 6:11am. I tried, but can not sleep. My mind is tired, but racing. There are so many more things I wanted to share. My mind still feels disorganized & muddy. I'm feeling a strange mix of hopelessness and hopeful. And for the first time in the 10+ years of this blog, I just went "private".
I remember what a therapeutic space this used to be. And then we met, and it ended. I could no longer speak freely, without fear of judgment or betraying trust, or hurting feelings. The dynamic completely changed, probably, for both of us. I was his muse. Then we met and moved in together on the same day, and our writing simultaneously screeched to a halt. Was that the beginning of his decline? Of mine? Was his decline inevitable, and my presence just an unrelated casualty?
C has assigned a task of writing daily. And I remember what a powerful daily practice that used to be, so I will give it another try. Again after all of these years.
I remember what a therapeutic space this used to be. And then we met, and it ended. I could no longer speak freely, without fear of judgment or betraying trust, or hurting feelings. The dynamic completely changed, probably, for both of us. I was his muse. Then we met and moved in together on the same day, and our writing simultaneously screeched to a halt. Was that the beginning of his decline? Of mine? Was his decline inevitable, and my presence just an unrelated casualty?
C has assigned a task of writing daily. And I remember what a powerful daily practice that used to be, so I will give it another try. Again after all of these years.
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