Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

The list of names, identities, I'm not allowed to talk about grow one by one with every passing year. Don't talk about me resonates through my eyes into my bones and causes my skin to shiver softly. I suppose asking others to understand that love doesn't end, that it burns into an unforeseen future, that the reason people can't get along after a break is that love and hate are birds of a feather, touching each other with a thin sheer veil between them, is asking too much. It hurts, but it is my bed, I'll sleep in it.

I wish you well, I really do. I cut you out because I had too, because I needed to start doing things for me. Because you were entangled with things that hurt me alot, that pulled me down, that probably weren't even your fault but just caught of bits of you. Other than the general unfairness of that, somethings got so caught up in you that I thought they were you. Slowly piecing together events make me now realise that the situation hurt more than any individual person, and that oftentimes you even had nothing to do with it, even though at the time I thought you did. I'm sorry.

Not even I'm sure who this is addressed to. Maybe a mythic persona of all the people I've hurt. The blade cuts both ways, maybe Dominique has the right of it, maybe it is best to wander about in the pursuit of no-harm instead of more-good. Two philosophers enter, one philosopher leaves. Don't get me wrong, I am not a utilitarian, but if that's true haven't I been immoral?

Lost in a sea of consciousness.

Written On: Home Computer