Acta Non Verba.

He asked about what had happened to your tv, and i knew then that nothing i could do nor say would change the course of events to follow. The mind had already been made up and i was no more a part of the decision than i had ever been. loneliness is something you cannot know until you are truely, actually, alone. there is a cold edge in the vaccuum of space that you teeter on, to fall is to fall into madness, to stand is to fight for what little grasp of yourself you have. Nothing means anything when the bottom falls out like that, and when you've been there you create mechanisms to prevent it from ever happening again. You can't know yourself until you've been there. You can't know what you're capable of.

And the funny thing is to think of this tenuous grasp I have lately on the idea of perfection, my mind has become so clouded over the course of the past two months. No matter what you believe life to be, perfection is a myth, the pursuit of which is the human equivalent of tail chasing. I only control myself, and I have a million more mistakes to make before I'm dead. That is not a valued statement, or a judgment, or an incendiary remark that pertains to anyone but myself. He fights for my right to exist the way we used to fight for each others'; unflinchingly, illogically, irresponsibly, frustratingly. Dogged and determined and I don't agree with or approve of the tactics, but it's nice that there's at least one who will accept me for all of my failings.

Not agreeing does not preclude being excellent to each other. But breaking points exist in any relationship, regardless of the origins.