(no subject)
I know I'm going to lose him. I know this time next year he'll be a painful memory that I still have to see. I will embrace the pain that Emily has felt. This will be my chance to prove to myself that I truly hurt for her. I love her. How could I not? How could she not fight for him? If someone else has taken our place in his heart, the circle will, for us, be complete. If he sends for her, ready to take her back into his arms, I will be thankful for her sake. He still loves her, and I never had any right to step in. My heart has no business being broken, and I will try to keep that separated from him as much as possible. I wonder if I truly love him or if I'll be able to tell him if I do.
This is my chance to search out other reasons for living. It is a lesson that often takes me to desperation. It is another reminder of my hypocrisy, one that I need. I always need them, so that I may sympathize with those I deplore for devoting themselves to passion. I never wanted to be like my mother, but it is inevitable. I fall furiously into the life of one person, am caught up in the care of their heart, their mind, their body. May I never have children. The first sign of their desertion would turn me into a madwoman. Someone once said to me, "Don't marry the man you love; marry the man who loves you." I begin to see the sense in it. A woman's love is a dangerous sickness. I have been preparing, but it is never enough. It is good that Erin moved away, but will it be necessary for me to remove myself to heal from this grief? Will it make me stronger? Can I stand it? Will I become calloused again, only to melt at softness from unexpected quarters?
This is my chance to search out other reasons for living. It is a lesson that often takes me to desperation. It is another reminder of my hypocrisy, one that I need. I always need them, so that I may sympathize with those I deplore for devoting themselves to passion. I never wanted to be like my mother, but it is inevitable. I fall furiously into the life of one person, am caught up in the care of their heart, their mind, their body. May I never have children. The first sign of their desertion would turn me into a madwoman. Someone once said to me, "Don't marry the man you love; marry the man who loves you." I begin to see the sense in it. A woman's love is a dangerous sickness. I have been preparing, but it is never enough. It is good that Erin moved away, but will it be necessary for me to remove myself to heal from this grief? Will it make me stronger? Can I stand it? Will I become calloused again, only to melt at softness from unexpected quarters?