Darkness ensues.
I am an asshole. I hate people. I am a culturalist, if not a racist. I think deep, dark thoughts about people. The things I think about people in general would put me in a category of disgust. Yes, I love you. Yes, I take my duties as host very seriously. Yes, I think highly of you as a person. I like persons, not people. Therein lies the distinction. I am compassionate, yet heartless. I am immeasurably patient, yet coldly logical. And the problem is- the absolutely alluring and seductive thing about it is- he allows it. He doesn't hate me for it. We think the same on these thoughts. And because I am not rejected for these dark and monstrous truths about myself means that I cannot leave this detrimental situation. Is it better for him? Is it better for me. Who knows? I am not one to know myself, these days. I am scared beyond reason while also understanding that I have a responsibility to myself and to my heritage. But I am so very afraid of hurting persons, and of all the change. If only it were simple. Can I be that woman? Can I be as strong as I need to be? To find myself I need to cut off someone who understands my darkness. Perhaps, all this time, that's the kind of person I have been searching for. Does he exist more than once? Does it matter? I miss myself. But he accepts my blackness. Dilemma. He accepts my black, but not my white. Is one more important than another?