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Wednesday, February 20, 2008


   RASH [this better not elicit an apology]
Remember all those things I wrote?
The ones you probably never read - no time, they're boring, too long - those.

[I poured myself out in those, by the way.]

I can hardly believe you have the nerve to come and ask me to share - my problems, difficulties, whatever - and make you not feel like an outsider.

[I did the best I could, love.]

I don't know what you count as "problems," because if you're measuring, I'm not using your scale. I'm never going to measure up - is there no hope of an exception?

But I must be jumping to conclusions again. It's an island long forgotten, and only unpleasantly rediscovered when my thoughts are put to life.

I've always regretted those moments.

Was I too harsh in my phrasing? Was it too unexpected from someone who goes with the flow? Excuse me, am I interrupting when I ask for help?

Oh - there I go again. Pouring myself out to the world - not considering others - not caring what happens.


That is too rash.

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