The Arms of Sorrow
Sometimes - many times, most times perhaps - seeking understanding is a painful process. As I wrote a couple months ago, but never published:
As many times as I tell myself than I’m not going to read it again, I find myself unceasingly returning to a certain address on the internets of former para-noir, like the shade of a murder victim to the scene of its own death. Of course I wandered past that particular set of letters and digits tonight, whereupon I found inscribed on this occasion a string of text that read, “Just because love was used to hurt you doesn’t make love a weapon.”
I’ve restrained myself quite well for the past couple months, but made another such journey last night - technically this morning, since it was around 2:30 - 3:30 AM. I’ve been trying to decide if it was a good idea, or a bad one. I can’t bring myself to ever say that knowledge is “bad,” that its the wrong thing to do to seek more knowledge and understanding. But I’ve just felt so shitty since my latest descent through the nether regions of the future past of a lost love that never was…
