Fuck in counterpoint

Finding yourself still wanting

Tu as raison, mon ami. Que puis-je dire encore? And what's more, I knew this from the start and should have heeded your warnings and advice. Que puis-je faire encore? Rien, maintenant. Exactement ça.

I'm finding it increasingly harder to think straight.

Forgive the pun.

Tu as peur d'être heureux? Me too. Imagine that.
I find vexing memories crowding my mind, and I can't seem to shake to feeling of loneliness. I can't take the invasion anymore! Comment survivre? The world keeps on turning... Tu sais les mots qui suivent.

How does it feel to find joy, pleasure, comfort, meaning in hurting?
It sucks, I know. I blew it; I fucked up, but must all be left in pieces? Qui l'a choisi?
Qui sait?

I invite Truth back in the room, and ask her to translate my message to you: I wish you well, though this will never be a goodbye.

You're never alone, jamais seul.

Je veux bien que tu pourrais encore parler à moi, rire avec moi. Quelle audace, non?

e e cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
-the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis