• (not too) personal

    “When rage reprised itself, when you fell back again on the old bitter tit for tat, when the need to escape finally left you throwing darts at the world map, at last it hit you. Simple choice: replay the old routine, the self-triggering cycle of accusation, the verbal razor cuts daubed in love’s alcohol. Traipse down the path of tender sadomasochism yet one more soul-shredding time. Or turn around and walk. Escape down the path that must still lie somewhere to the south, the way you walked in. One more tearful reconciliation would only furthur demean you both. The place you pushed for —the tumbledown house in the country, your…