I think I write because I’ve always had this useless need to capture everything about a woman. Every single one I’ve met. Every single aspect about them. The god awful swirl in me that builds when I see their spine showing through their shirts and the strength in their voices. Their cruelty and their grace, I have to paint that picture several times and fail several times because nothing in my life matters to me more than the soul of women.
Accepting his lack of concern was the best thing that happened to him. A false moral center born of preconceived notions had been sabotaging any chance for his growth.
Any who shared in his terror had passed now and he chose to remain. He wanted revenge on all existence originally, but has since thrown away any sense of finding a culprit. He understood blame couldn’t exist.