3.30.13
Go, then— with all the smugness that you’ve ended my life. Oh, I would love to tell you how misinformed, how foolish your conceit.. But that would be greater than a lie and you know. And in knowing you would leave me, still. And have I asked for much? Did I ask you all those biting questions which tear at me, even as I write? No! I could only attempt the old act of understanding. Oh, you saw through the cracks. They were mighty enough, sure. You scratched at them and saw with those cruel bombadier’s eyes. How you, in your enormous conceit, loved to say how like a cowboy they made you, you bastard. I knew oh-so-well not believe the cunning of other men, but you— I fucking love you, you shit. So go ahead and yuck it up; grin at how abso-fucking-lutely charming you must be, and masculine to ruin a woman so. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? Oh, I have been fucking dumb, indeed. But I knew it, too. Gods, how I wanted to believe I found a home in you. How I want to believe it still!





