a mess.

you havent gone for help.
you havent gone for help because you want to suffer.

i really wish i could answer the phone. i cant, but at least i can lie about it.

i tell the redbreast the truth, or at least something close to it: ‘my fantasy life is happier than my real life, these days’
he says i can talk to him.

going away is not the same as running away. right?

yesterday i met a man who was dying. i helped him cross a few things off his list of things to do before he dies.
i whisper ‘you will never be useless’ in his ear, tenderstem, genuine.
you cant kill a man.
you cant kill a man and expect it not to change you.