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End of Grief
8 years ago
Eventually, one can't validate the pain. That is, one can't validate one's behavior based on pain. It stops being rational, or even reasonable. Growth...
These wounds never heal, till the day it's all forgotten.
My narrative changed quite a bit, but more of it didn't. So how much can I complain, really? I have my mind, somehow, I didn't lose it. I have a home, a sort of guilded cage. Yet less of a cage than before! But also less guilded. Freedom...
Certainly, time and truth are indistinct. All questions get answered, eventually. Even if the answer is to never have asked the question. Unfortunately, some answers are ugly, and my family is uglier. Other than one or two, I want nothing to do with them. Less funerals, too. Love...
I know what I want. I know what to do. I know my name. Knowledge!
In all senses, Happy New Year!
Also, we will not reunite. But I love you and, more importantly, I respect and respected you. You gave me your Will. I, homonculus, gear, calculated and planned, will do service to your sacrifice. And, of course, service to humanity, but when was that ever in question? And I am gay, but I wonder if you knew? Oh well, I'm sure that you'd agree: considering how you died, and that smell, being straight is not a real option. I'm going to find a guy that's right for me. This sin can't possibly be real. Lastly, I apologize for telling you his name. I still haven't quite figured him out, so I shouldn't have invited you into that conversation. I'm sorry to have brought you such consternation. You did everything for me, like no one else ever has. You were the only one who was, guaranteed, always on my side. Like no one else. My best friend... you got me over every challenge, and challenged me in turn. My wishes know no end... but I know my being: I will not get to share with you. I am grateful for the 23 years we got together. It was a mercy that we got so many. On that particular day of my wedding, I will reserve for you a seat, longing that you could be there, like you always were... I have little else to say, because other than my being gay, I really was honest with you. But we will not reunite. Until God tires of this, I. Will. Not.
I love you. I miss you. Mom, you deserve a good night's sleep. With two tears, goodbye.
These wounds never heal, till the day it's all forgotten.
My narrative changed quite a bit, but more of it didn't. So how much can I complain, really? I have my mind, somehow, I didn't lose it. I have a home, a sort of guilded cage. Yet less of a cage than before! But also less guilded. Freedom...
Certainly, time and truth are indistinct. All questions get answered, eventually. Even if the answer is to never have asked the question. Unfortunately, some answers are ugly, and my family is uglier. Other than one or two, I want nothing to do with them. Less funerals, too. Love...
I know what I want. I know what to do. I know my name. Knowledge!
In all senses, Happy New Year!
Also, we will not reunite. But I love you and, more importantly, I respect and respected you. You gave me your Will. I, homonculus, gear, calculated and planned, will do service to your sacrifice. And, of course, service to humanity, but when was that ever in question? And I am gay, but I wonder if you knew? Oh well, I'm sure that you'd agree: considering how you died, and that smell, being straight is not a real option. I'm going to find a guy that's right for me. This sin can't possibly be real. Lastly, I apologize for telling you his name. I still haven't quite figured him out, so I shouldn't have invited you into that conversation. I'm sorry to have brought you such consternation. You did everything for me, like no one else ever has. You were the only one who was, guaranteed, always on my side. Like no one else. My best friend... you got me over every challenge, and challenged me in turn. My wishes know no end... but I know my being: I will not get to share with you. I am grateful for the 23 years we got together. It was a mercy that we got so many. On that particular day of my wedding, I will reserve for you a seat, longing that you could be there, like you always were... I have little else to say, because other than my being gay, I really was honest with you. But we will not reunite. Until God tires of this, I. Will. Not.
I love you. I miss you. Mom, you deserve a good night's sleep. With two tears, goodbye.
