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?