This is how I was when I was with her, and I was happy. And I still have a photo of her, and she was just as happy.
And everything was possible.
And then it fell apart because I could never decide between obligation and happiness; between freedom and duty; between grind and sexual fulfilment.
And then they confirmed – beyond all their shadow of doubt – that I was paranoid; and this family of mine, this evil family of mine, which preferred to type me and dice me and strip me of all rights to fair hearing. And then some years later, they chose to assign an equally horrendous diagnosis to the fairest, kindest, most beautiful being that has ever walked the earth.
And the damn damn evil of this pusillanimous family knows no damn bounds; and how they have destroyed good people who have been obliged to tag along in its overbearing shadow; its darkness; its secrets shared but never told.
And we never, neither of us, were ill at all. And all that happened, quite simply, is that we died from broken hearts.
And all that needs doing now is to mend them.
And maybe, just maybe, get the creatures who did it all … because creatures they’ve certainly been to us, haven’t they? Yup. Time to get the creatures, and their nasty underbellies, exactly where they deserve to be.
Not out of vengeance, mind. Out of justice – and love. Love, above all …