He is young and reckless. A gambolling curious and sensitive kitten. Also a clumsy puppy who wiggles and wags and runs headlong into the furniture. Despite his outward playfulness, inside he is wounded and fearful, but he can be coaxed out of hiding to roll over and present his soft underbelly over and again. Smart, articulate, and frighteningly perceptive, he bounced into my corner of the internet some three months ago with his devastating vulnerability and got all up in my face.
He is nowhere near me, of course, as is always the way, but he made Plans, capital P … [...Read More]
I’m angry, I’m hurt, I’m sad, and none of this is a surprise. Which is some comfort. Because I knew. And knowing means my instincts are good, solid, reliable. Knowing cushions the fall, makes the landing softer.
“I don’t trust him,” I said, right there in black and white.
I was right.
But I still kept a little piece of hope alive, because dammit, there was something there that I haven’t felt in a long long time. And I wanted it. Even though I knew, really, that it was an illusion.