i knew it would. anticipated this.
it is just that all the knowledge and anticipation, and theory… allow one only to seek a hideout in time, and stash valerian. and some other stuff.
for the times when one just breaks down. for the nights. for the festivals.
for the times, when the breach in reality is too much for humour, too large for irony. when the iron front melts. when the torn soul cannot be hidden, and has to be drowned.
i have this body memory. this memory of sitting – in the last many midsummers – at the foot of her bed. not talking or anything. just being there. pretending to watch whatever she watches. just.. to be there. with her.
never been good at talking about this sort of thing. not good now either.
i feel trapped. i do not see what the trap is, and that makes it only worse. i cannot feel its borders or style, i cannot get out. i can only drown the pain now. for the time being. in the hope tomorrow will be another day.
tomorrows are very good at being other days. proven by practice.