There's something inhumane about our human instinct to relish pain. I watched a relationship crash and burn. Daily. And then, finally, I walked from the plumes with ash in my hair.
I continually compare envied loves to my own fucked relationship. Why??? WHY.
To extinguish my emotions, I've thrown myself into my work. Maybe one day at Princeton I'll look back and learn not to hate him. I'll learn that, maybe. One day, in a nearby summer, I will dance through Italian meadows, cobblestone streets, and learn to forgive. Until then, I'm just learning how to deal. And once again I'm suspended. Suspended somewhere between hurting and healing, between a relationship and the freedom I once craved. I'm too hurt to love, too lonely not to.
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