May 5th, Year of the Corpse

I cannot expect my heart to be receptive to love, when my head will not grasp the concept of love. This does not stop my hands from pulling in any man that passes me by. Those who I will always remember and vilify. Those that I will idealize. Those whose names I forget soon after turning them away, only days after promising them something more substantial and enduring.

Last night, I dreamt I lived alone in the forest. There, surrounded only by echoes and Ruey, I would spend my time shooting arrows at the moon. The solitude brought with it undisturbed happiness. There was no one to count my mistakes, therefore none existed. Just cool earth and emerald green moss. Just towering redwoods and the babbling brooks.

This dream came to me, after Joseph asked that I let him inside of me. It sounded so silly, that request. As if there was a door he could not open. As if he was asking for the watchword. And, of course, it was under my control. Though he has proven to be capable of a great deal of reprehensible acts, rape is not one of them.

I said, as I often have, that it would happen some other day.
Some other day always exists as some other day. Soon after that, we argued, just like every other day.

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May 5th, Year of the Corpse

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