I just threw away something that had become too close to me. I’ve made a promise I’m going to keep. I’m doing something for me, because I deserve it. I think this counts as progress. Or the start of it. Sigh of relief.
Just to prove I haven't been doing nothing for all this time
I’ve been writing something much longer, but it’s not finished at all. I doubt it will be for a while, maybe I’ll post paragraphs here. I don’t have a title yet. This is by no means the opening paragraph, so don’t get any ideas.
‘Sweetheart, I told you, we can’t. It’s not- no- it’s not- let me finish- it’s not that I don’t want you, but I can’t- oh look, if you won’t listen… I know. No. No. Don’t say things like that. Of course I still think you’re beautiful. I still love you. Yes I know what it means. Yes. But you see why we can’t? I won’t have another lover. I won’t. I’ll lie in bed every day until my skin falls off or my ribcage caves in but I won’t live with you. You know why. It’s not an ultimatum. I can’t do this. I-’
Whore had a lover too, apparently. I could see, I suppose, something in her trembling eyes. It was hard to look past her complete lack of aesthetic invitation. The scar on her cheek from the scalding water a patron had bestowed upon her, splashed from her belly whose Rorschach test was impassable. They all came out insane. Some strange fetish then inflicted on the rest of womankind. But she wasn’t a woman. She had another smell, a stench of another element. I don’t think she spoke English. My translation may be a little forward.