I am reading Flaubert again and it reminded me of myself long before I met you, with Emma’s insistence on all things grand and exuberant and nothing less than this. I finished a volume of Hidalgo’s short stories and in between turning pages, I felt another pair of eyes watching me as I read, smiling probably over how foolish I looked chuckling to myself over Patricia’s antics. I read up on modernism and it being a ‘deeply penetrating analysis of the human person’, abolishing stereotypical, role-playing characterization. I read Kafka and realized I needed the very same thing he did, a need for “independence and solitude”, so great that he never permitted himself to marry.

I have spent the last two days reading, and more importantly, not thinking about you. At least, not as much as I would have.

You cut out what is unnecessary. You always do. The worth of words with strikethroughs over them is another thing though — you would always believe them to be crucial to the tale you are sketching. The thing is, I understood all the reasons for this, how etching a period instead of an ellipsis is an inevitability we had to face, and why not do it now, right, why not do it now instead of dragging it into paragraph after paragraph of old resentments we would eventually edit out when time deems it appropriate? I understood perfectly. That, however, does not cancel out missing you. Admitting that alone is saying too much already, but for once I am not worried about going overboard. Sooner or later it would dissipate and I trust that it would only because I have been here more than I should have this year alone.

Snippets I thought forever surrendered to memory come dancing usually even before I realize the same old tune is playing. Of course if there’s anything at all that I learned this year is that Aristotle’s golden mean doctrine holds out for every circumstance possible. Right now I could not say that I have slapped a label of expertise onto my forehead, and at the same time I am not exactly a babbling clueless fool anymore. Perhaps somewhere in between. At this point I have recognized the familiar phases and knew, no matter how much I had to get them over with at once, that going through them is a process imperative for recovery. I have fallen deeper before into the same pit — this actually has become so easy for me that I know what to do, that right now, it seems like allowing myself to pass through these emotions is purely out of indulgence.


** like everything else, this will lay unfinished.


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