A Tergo, Lupi

A late night email sent as a consolation. An olive branch laid at my feet to quell the longstanding miasma. He sends them from where he feels safe because the words he forms with his fingers are ones that his mouth won't utter. I am alone in an icestorm. I don't know how to save myself. The point is that the conversation is still one-sided. And later he looks at me with eyes full of hunger when we are alone in the room, an expectation of compassion standing stoically between us.

I am tired.

In my stomach there is a knot, and it has been tied a million and two times, and everything adds to it anymore. Everything. I front like I am the most secure and strong individual, but there is this huge insecurity like a weight deep within me, and every time I think about "fixing" this, the knot grows. I wish that I had a stronger survival instinct. I am clawing at the Emily who can read the meditations without feeling a strong sense of fear. When I look in the mirror I search for the one who really understands the words "strength, duty, honor" as they relate to her own life.

12. Why all the guesswork? You can see what needs to be done. If you can see the road, follow it. Cheerfully, without turning back. If not, hold up and get the best advice you can. If anything gets in the way, forge on ahead, making good use of what you have on hand, sticking to what seems right. (The best goad to achieve, and the one we fall short of when we fail.)