I was in a car accident today. Rain and carelessness combined to make me the one at fault. I do not remember if I felt anything at all, during or shortly after the impact, I struggle to forgive myself now. I am not sure I have learned to do that.
The accident caused little harm to property or persons involved. That should produce a feeling of gratitude, but it does not. My mistakes and imperfections are plagues upon me.
I am Anais Nin at the height of her self-indulgence. I am Ayn Rand at her most selfish. I sympathized with the devil, shortly after reciting my first prayer. I have ripped out the vocal chords from my spirit. I have ten thousand names that fall and crack. I am senseless vitriol, never doing as I must, never crying as I should.
All choices will define a character, I said long ago, said someone long before me. Who I am is shamed and taunted by who I should be.