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from these visits, I find that I’m still weeping my heart out over my own private sorrow, my own private demons…sometimes at night quietly weeping bitter, soul-wrenching tears, as if it were just yesterday.
Everything that’s been done to us we carry forever. We would do our damnedest to hold on to the good and forget the rest. Locked in our hearts, in a place our waking minds can’t or won’t touch, the worst is stored. The only key is in our dreams, our nightmares.
Yes, the years have helped. Others have come and gone. Anthony was the sweetest first in many ways. Sometimes in the blue quiet of the morning or in the black hush of the night, I would see him. He would be as he had always been to me. Sweet and pure. Warm and tender. Young and beautiful. In the ebb of my life, the thought of him makes the years melt away. My love for him, rekindles. My need for him begins to burn again. The loss renewed. A first love gone. And still quietly, the suffering continues.