She is beauty personified. I have written at different times and in differing states of mind my feelings on her. Remember that I use a lot, and these last few years I haven't used nearly enough to be considered a die hard junkie. I hust use on payday and one more day, and the rest of the week is a slow recovery through the various states of depression remorse guilt and self loathing that heroin withdrawal encompasses.
This has been constant for nigh on five years. no wonder shoe's tired. no wonder she wants a change.
But nonetheless (taking into account it's just over 48 hours since my last shot) that I love her. She has a soul. Her eyes shine, and when she's happy it makes up for all the times when she's sad.
Lately I have been in one of Dante's lower levels of hell. When she's here it's been tension, waiting for to bring up news of her exit. Which for me is like rubbing salt on a wound, and I know she knows this, but she does it anyway, whether to hurt me or whether it's to help me accept the reality of her imminent departure, I do not know. Seven years with her and I still can't work her out. I wouldn't want to know why she does things, to me that would be mystery solved and I'd be ready for the next challenge. Maybe that's where she's got with me. Maybe she solved the puzzle first, worked out all my angles, and she's bored. Or maybe she just didn't think the puzzle worth solving, not worth committing time to.
I don't know. And I don't know which one I'd prefer. Given that they're my only two options, either one is unpleasant. Like the choices I am faced with now. She goes and I learn to come home to an empty flat, and to tell noone my sad little tales. Maybe I'll retreat into the web fulltime, like some Gibsonesque character, alive only in the datasphere.
Or the other outcome. She stays, like she did last time in July 2004. Then I am faced with the question, did she stay for me or for the gabo? Last time she stayed ofr the gabo, and perhaps it'd have been better had she just gone for good back then. How different would my life be now? I may have gone with MSF back while I still had hope of changing the world. As I told her the other day, I no longer believe I can do any good out there in Africa or Russia. Perhaps I should still go anyway, hoping to bring back my lost optimism.
Back to where I started. I love her. She is my north my south my east my west. Leaving me will be a betrayal I cannot overcome. I mean, I will forgive her instantly, but I will remove her so far from my life, Russian Communists who went through the history books cutting out pictures of shamed leaders would be proud. Scorched earth. Hire a dozen hookers until I'm so empty of love I can only think of her in vague terms. Shadowmake her.
I don't want to do that. I don't want to unlove her.
I don't know if I can.