In which I say goodbye to you.

What history are you talking about? All I see is days and words. No actions. Nothing that can’t be reversed. When I look at the time passed, there is me suffering and you suffering in different parts of the country. There’s never us suffering. There’s never us laughing. When I look back, I always see you walking away from me – and you’ve never once looked back after we’ve said goodbye. So what history are you talking about? Surely you must be remembering the future. You know something I don’t. I always claimed that I was the one who had been to the end and back, but if I am, I have forgotten what I saw there. I know no injustice, no cruelty, no love or need to fight for or against. All I feel is me giving up and letting go. All I know is that there must be some other future. This world is not deterministic, I refuse to believe that, which means that I have to go and make my own future the way I see fit. I need to take charge. Do something. Too long have I put myself on the sidelines of life, waiting for things to happen – to come my way. Too long have I believed in us – that we were somehow special. Believed that there had to be some divine connection between us because of the way we got to know each other; that your embrace and my embrace would someday meet, was of as little chance as me getting hit by the lightning that stroke when I saw your first anonymous words. I always thought of you as thunder, that we were electrical; were the light on the darkest night; that we could set fire to the world. But it’s been cold now for years, and we’re more like the entire make-up of the universe than just the few bright spots. You and I, we’re ninety-six percent shivering darkness.


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