the weekend of aborted wrestling. So I thought maybe, stripped naked and with all the time metered out to us we might achieve some success. I came to it with my arms open. I came to it full bodied, only vaguely distracted by the housework and the washing up. Weekend away together, or something close to it.
What a joke. Weekend of growling and barking and standing tight lipped in our corners. We are less than friends now. This aborted attempt to come to grips with each other. I bring all my intellect to the task but no amount of craft and structural truths will save this shambles of a love. You and I for years, coming to some kind of internal truth. I stare at you and you are nothing but a manuscript. You are not my person anymore. I have no person. I have no new thing to go onto. Damn you were fine. We were fine. I miss something. You. I think I miss you.