Monday, September 24, 2012

It took me a long time to realize that the anger is not anger. At least not in you. Anger, it seems, for you is a way to say "look at me, take me by the hand, tell me I am still valuable to you even in my weakened state. Tell me some way you can love this battered shell of a man that I have become."

When I see that. I can take your hand. I can hold you. I can.

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