2018 spent, so far, wrapped up so tight in my own family, in our loss ... I only just found out a friend has been, essentially, widowed. The last time I saw her, late in May, was the last time she worked where I knew her.
Tears fall on my chest, and I think of Mr. X - about whom I have not even blogged now, maybe in years - and my whole soul begs ... please. Don't let this be us. Him *or* me.
It is a bruise, it is a guilt.
It is horror, the truest sense. Guilt must be the greatest horror.
A friend told me, "She was always excited to see you."
I had no idea. It means ... too much.
Tears fall on my chest. This brick, this fat, this bone, this blood.
Life is so brutal, and short. Surely, that is to some point.
Surely.
?
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