… a thing is so powerful it can only be destroyed. Sometimes you just have to break a thing before it consumes you. As you do it you’re not sure, you’re not at all sure, the breaking feels wrong yet the drive to keep hacking is there, strong, unavoidable. Once you’ve started you must carry on. Do the job properly. A half-broken thing cannot be fixed and yet can tempt with dangerous possibility. The trick is to destroy it fully and never glance back, or wonder, or question, just move on. It is done. It is broken. It cannot now hurt you.
I look at people who are content with their lot and wonder could that have been me? Was there a point, one solitary moment in time, where I too had the choice of growing into that person? The person who is content? If there was – if at some crucial point I stepped fractionally the wrong way – then I missed it completely. I can’t possibly trace it now. I will never know where and when it was.
I do not know why I left Spencer.
I do not know why I would have broken something so beautiful.
I do not know.
Though I always assumed him dead, I must also have contemplated him alive because many times I’ve pictured a point when he and I would meet. When we would reconnect. But I always knew each imagined conversation could never then happen – had been cursed by that very imagining. These scenarios we dream can never materialise. There are no prophecies. I should have learned over the years to pre-empt conversations I do not want to have by way of this method. Negate them completely by the mere act of scripting them myself, alone, in my head before they can happen for real.
But we don’t. We daydream desires not fears.
There’s a lot I’ve failed to learn. This is but one small thing.