When you asked me if I thought you were even capable of love, I told you the truth. There is love in you, as surely as there is hate and violence. There is love so honest, so unselfish, so pure, so beautiful, that the few times I have come into contact with it I have been left breathless.

Yes, you've hurt me. You've disappinted, disobeyed, displeased. In a very real sense, you've abandoned me - I may be the one who did the walking but I honestly say I would prefer to have you a part of me, as we were. I've never dared to ask the question you did. I don't want to know if you believe I can't, or don't, love you. To know I've failed that completely would be, I think, more than I can deal with right now.

I try not to make excuses for what I am. Imperfect, I never claim that what I do is right, or fair, because sometimes it simply is not. Perhaps this choice too was unfair, not right, but it was necessary in my eyes and I couldn't do anything else and live with it.

Maybe you don't see it as a big thing. I mean, I do know how I come across much of the time. Dramatic, overblown, I tend to swooping, grandiose gestures and sudden decisions. My heart's on my sleeve, you could say. Thing is, I honestly want you to understand that it was NOT a small thing, not to me. Each time I give up something, someone, that I treasure, it's like cutting off an arm, a leg. It's NOT something I can do without. It's NOT just words. I give as good as I get...

...and you gave so much.

I guess I just wanted you to know. Maybe later, things will change, return to what they were, stable and comforting again. Maybe in another life, when we are both cats. *wry grin*

So many drugs, and still I can feel sappy. I wonder what it's like to be normal?