Broken Doll

So today we had The Conversation. And it was the standard hellish — I say just enough to get the point across, so I don’t have to remember any more than necessary. And he gives the by-now-standard response: it’s okay. I’m here to help. It doesn’t bother me. We’ll do the work together.

And I don’t believe it anymore. I’ve heard it before.

And the words I keep to myself: I know you’re going to leave.

And this, I suppose, is the perception shift. There is no permanence. No stability. Everything changes. Everything dies.

It’s not okay. But I am, perhaps, resigned. This is it. Take what you can because tomorrow it’s gone.

And the walls have been rebuilt. We spent a few hours smashing into them. May have chipped one or two. That’s okay… plenty more walls beyond those. Enough to keep us working and exhausted for months.

What’s the reward here, for all this work? Is one even reachable?

I can see myself getting attached to him, and that is most likely the wrong thing to do.