tuesday 11 august 2009

Page Fifteen

Some people are built with more fragility than others. I’ve known them, and know them. People who lost the very center of their world, of their hearts, and while they have survived, they are deeply and permanently changed. Some kill themselves. Those that don’t are never the same. Right now I’m in the never the same group. Too much has been taken, too much that was irrevocably a part of who I was.     

I wander in my mind over hundreds of moments that were in my own life, and all that life was stolen from me 17 months ago today, exactly, on Tues 11 March 2008. I wander over songs that were ours, but only in my mind. For 55 years I had homes, and for 55 years I had animals. In middle age I began to have an even deeper desire than ever to withdraw as much as I could from the human world I don’t understand, and live almost entirely in my own world. But that world was taken, 17 months ago today, exactly.

Some people break more deeply, more completely than others do. I’ve known them, and know them. Some keep living as shells with all the meat drained out of them. Some decide to skip all that.

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