Brooding

He is going to have to leave her, if he ever wants not to be miserable again. But even though the logic works, he can’t stop brooding. And wondering.

Whoever said, “It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all,” should be dragged naked through the desert. First, for the split infinitive. But second, for the sentiment. Long ago, he was consumed with despair, empty and cold. Resigned to be alone. He should have been left for dead.

Instead, he was given a tantalizing taste of what life should be like.

To take that away is worse than not having had it before. He’s not the blind man who treasures his five-minute rainbow. He’s the poor man who never should have tasted gourmet food, because he’d never have known what he was missing.

Family

I love taking photographs. I record my life with forensic determination. I realized this morning that I don't have a single picture of you. You don't factor into my life, because every time I let you, everything seems to explode around me. If I had the choice, you would not even exist on the fringes of my life anymore. But what they say about family is true. You can't choose them.

I know people have unreasonably high expectations of family and holiday togetherness. So I try to empty myself of those kinds of thoughts. But my expectations—of having a holiday when you were quiet and maybe even civil to me—were still too high.

Sitting by the river, I run over the argument in my head. I came to you because I thought I'd somehow offended you. I asked how, and apologized. You started yelling. You didn't stop. I look over to the other side of the river and realize there is no bridge that will get me to the far side. It will always be within sight, but forever out of reach.