A Journal of Undoing – Four

For so long I have been in the possession of something that aches to be broken wide open and set free from longing.

I will take anything – an affair, a distraction, a broken arm, an appendectomy. Heartache; anything that provides release from the embers of loving someone who needs nothing; least of all you. I push it away and hide it out of sight as much as possible, but you are a worm. You find me always at my weakest. There is no undoing. No escaping the labyrinth.

Has it ever been nearer, the scent of knowing that it is true – desire only leads to suffering and abject unhappiness. That longing is at the root of all despair. And that to love entirely, completely, with no sense of your own worth is only the quickest route to damnation. You are here somewhere and so am I. We are both lost together but also to each other.

There is no coming to courage without fear.

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