Hello unloving.... I will love you.

I don't even have the emotional capacity to write. How pathetic is that?

And I can't believe myself. I can't believe what I've done. What I am still grieving. Because I am always trying to be the healer that I am not. I am not a woman who can just take men, and rip them open, and heal their souls. I cannot, and yet, that gift is so precious that all I want is to embody it. And so I try, and try again. And I fail each and every time, and tear myself apart in the process. I tried to sew back the three of you - the triumverate of destruction. And I failed miserably every time, and more and more of the beauty of innocence and light is being destroyed and mutilated every time I try.

And even now, all I want to do is save you.

... They tell me everything will be okay, as long as my hands keep moving. But my hands have fallen to my sides, and they are still as lead.

.... There is no lead on this island to fix the hydrogen bomb. And the explosion will not be beautiful, and the world will be destroyed because of what I have done. At least it was my fault. I wish that was comforting.

Nothing makes sense. My unreality has failed me yet again, and all I want to do is crawl in bed with you.

Hello unloving, I will love you.