This morning she shows up at the front door, crying, asking why I do not pick up the phone, why we have not spoken in months. Why, at times, I am cold as ice and others, happy and eager to see her.
I remember the exact moment the telephone became a feared and hated object; it was the moment Mark and I started the slow fade, after Liz and our two year fade. After the Badawi fiasco of 2001. Somewhere, in that constellation of moments (just moments that seem too banal to impact anything at all!) is the fear of abandonment. I am so tired of this self-inflicted exile.
Love hurts. It always has and always will; these days loneliness seems superior to the agony implicit in love...
It is good she came, that she cried and showed me to my face how I've hurt her. She said: "you have such an open heart but something's fucked up in it..."
Yup, it's stuck in relationalimbo...