THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
It is a strange thing- although possibly an obvious one- that throughout all of it, through everything that happened- it was actually me who was psychologically sound and not him. I fell into bits, but predictably so, and I saw it when I did. He still doesn't see it, never saw it, never saw what he did. He is much more warped, much more damaged than I had ever thought. It becomes clearer with distance.
It is due to naivety and affection that I couldn't see it. I wanted him to be good because I could see goodness in him. He was unreachable to me.
His entire life is falling around his shoulders right now. It's a funny thing to watch. I am sympathetic, but do not act.
He will find me when it is all over with, when everything has become really ruined for him, and it will, whether it is sooner or later- and I will console him and try to watch my words.
We will never be as we were.
There is no more pain, just curiosity. And sadness. But sadness for him. Not for me. He cannot touch me anymore.