Theres that sense of being broken that emerges long after the breaking point. It begins as an uneasy feeling. Fleeting, at first. But it grows. It always grows. It’s too brief to put your finger on, initially, its only when it gets to the point that your trigger is obvious, do you realise whats wrong.
Giving yourself away so freely. I understand why people say it makes them feel worthless, without any value. A mere object. It’s been a month. I think. But I can’t tell when the crack appeared. Was it when I drove away? Or the severing of a final thread that caused it?
I don’t know. It’s too late. Invisible bothers me. Useless bothers me. Helplessness bothers me. Feeling all three at once with a single hollow stare is like a punch to the stomach. Where does this anger and regret come from? A foolish mistake, years ago. A green letter with a lie in it the original source of this angst.
Four people in the world know what this letter is. I am one of them. So make that three. One wrote it, the other two received it. To one, it was a mere greeting. To the other, it sparked a three year saga of mistakes and pain and joy and love.
Funny how the two extremes always accompany each other: pain and joy, love and resentment, calm and confusion.