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A conversation with myself.

manuscriptx

New Member
Who the hell do you think you are? You don't deserve to even e-mail her, much less actually speak, touch or God forbid, hold her. You made your land of opportunistic purgatory, now wallow in it for as long as it takes until you realize learn how to rise from the ashes like a bird of prey.

All I want to do is tell her how much I still love her, always did and likely always will. I don't want anything else, just to mention that. But supposing you do, doesn't that include a requirement like also mentioning your pathetic life since then? Quitting what was a pretty secure but albeit sliding pay scale down into the sand; running off into nowhere but only for a second weekend ride over the Amtrak train tracks. Stalling yourself from getting back on your feet and tinker with a bit of actual responsibility, personal responsibility.

This doesn't make any sense. If you still fawn for her, get over it. Otherwise there's only one true option. Kill yourself. If the pain is too great you must relieve it and soon, otherwise it improperly infects your rationale for doing anything substantive throughout your life, or what is left of it.

Logic dictates that there are plenty of alternative considerations. Logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end. And nor have you had any in a long time. I ask you again man, what was your most prized possession? What was your wisest decision? Can you tell me, do you even know? It was her and her all along. Her actions, her experience, her love was what you had and now it's gone, leaving you a broken and inconsiderable soul.

Bitter dregs for the dragon's thought.
 
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