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Perhaps I have been a fool

November 22, 2015

For stressing out, frantically seeking homes. For counting weeks, believing every, I don’t know, total of 15 hours was définitive and très, très important beaucoup.

Now I dont know

They’re still important, every additionnel hour with him is. But I used to understand each hour as a marker on the board, a certain increase in the ‘us’. I still like certainty, but am unsure what I can be certain of. My head is heavy from bad sleep and tears.

Part of me feels deceived by myself. I had been confident that the only item between myself and flight was accommodation, that conviction was sufficient for the rest. Now I have accommodation and little conviction ;  how do I work my équation ?

I find in me, then, a willingness to go, but facing the uncomfortable thought that perhaps I’ve been wrong, all along.

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