the very worst thing

is the gnawing apprehension that the intimates in your life you once valued above all others, above all else, that they are now painfully lacking, having taken the forking paths far away from their potential for transcendent selfhood to some sick pastiche of your worst dreads for them; that now you can only muster dry-mouthed contempt for those you once adored.* I don’t want this to happen to you. I don’t. Stay aloft, I implore.

*And the very worst part is that nothing or no-one has replaced these fallen few. Only a profound sense of self-worth that sickens in the context of the withered wretched formless being you have since become. Fuck.

March 10, 2011