You know it's fucking funny and ironic that until i reminded myself today of the fact, it has been ten years since we called it a day for good and you tore my heart out for the very last time, ten years of fighting for that little boy with every ounce of my being, it's made ma stronger person but i cannot believe that ten years ago i would still be in a life of death struggle with you for the safety of that little person's soul, of course then again it's always those that were closest to you in another life that know exactly how to twist the knife, one day it will end, One day it will be over and there will be some sense of ending, but i have been fighting you for ten fucking years, your choice not mine, and I know you had regrets the night you forced me to walk away, I wonder if you still have regrets, I wonder it, but I don't give a damn, you are dead to me, Ten years dead, a lll the emotion i have once had for you has turned into cold and angry determination, I won't give you the time of day to hate you because once I did love you.... but you have turned his life into hell and for what? some imagined slight against me? it's time to end the game, it's time for you to be a footnote in my life and only his mother, I have been fine and survived without a partner for the last decade, I am ready for the next step in my life, but it's sad and fucking pathetic that you are hardly a memory, that a day that was so important once upon in my life is only a joke, you destroyed me once, maybe twice, but i am always like a fucking phoenix and no matter what you do to me i Will be reborn in the flames. the same will not be said for you when this battle is over and you are burning in your own sorrow.
Current Mood: Determined, Sad.
In any war story, but especially a true one, it's difficult to separate what happened from what seemed to happen. What seems to happen becomes its own happening and has to be told that way. The angles of vision are skewed. When a booby trap explodes, you close your eyes and duck and float outside yourself. .. The pictures get jumbled, you tend to miss a lot. And then afterward, when you go to tell about it, there is always that surreal seemingness, which makes the story seem untrue, but which in fact represents the hard and exact truth as it seemed.
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