a large c clamp

Last night I sat in my bed and listened while a garbage truck took away the nicest birthday present I have ever gotten, but it had to go.  It had lied face-down amongst the boxes of books and other too-much stuff since I moved late last year, and for a long while I didn’t even want to look at it, reminding me as it did of a life that I no longer lived with a person I never really knew.

Yesterday afternoon I took the present out back and destroyed it with a large c clamp, and I didn’t feel much of anything.

It’s been almost a year, and the only thing that really lingers is the betrayal, which my naive heart stubbornly refuses to comprehend.  Or, perhaps, it’s my egotistical brain which refuses to accept that it could possibly have been so wrong. Either way it’s shit, which is an unfortunate label to have to apply to such an important piece of my life.  I suppose unfortunate labels are an inevitable part of life, made tragic when they cover up words like “love” and “trust.”

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