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“I still love you. And sometimes, my friend, the love that I have, and can’t give to you, crushes the breath from my chest. Sometimes, even now, my heart is drowning in a sorrow that has no stars without you, and no laughter, and no sleep.”
—Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram
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Until you can pour your heart out to me, leave me alone.
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It’s the opposite of Russian roulette. The revolver is loaded, and only one round is left empty. Each night I spin the cylinder and you pull the trigger, the ultimate indication of whats to come. The bullets, they explode in my mind —sending me backwards and forwards—never allowing for a pleasant night. Occasionally, I get the empty round and I’m free to wonder about the empty spaces of my mind. I make events up as I go, no explosion means no burden of could of, would of, should of… But this empty round is rare and surrounded by multiple real shots. More often than not I spend my nights in greif about what really happened, or my mornings in distress about what didn’t. It’s lethal, this game that we play every night. Some may say that I play by myself. But oh no, you’re there every time—just as much a player in this as me. The only decision we have yet to make is to dream pleasantly a little more often; no attempt yet made to take out some rounds.
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“Aw, what happened to your leg? But it’s good that it’s healing now!”
I pulled my adductor dancing, unfortunately. It’s been an annoying hindrance so I’m really glad it’s starting to feel good to stretch, rather than painful. :)
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After about a year, I think my leg is finally (slowly) healing after rolling/stretching it out everyday.
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