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The disconnection with oneself, suddenly upon sending that letter, which was not useful and almost uncalled for, one realized how untouched one was. Where did the courage come from? - to send a message that was long forgotten. Why invite chaos again? And lose all the energy that was built up until now. She knows yet she …

It is difficult to write - illogical and unintuitive. As though words shy away when they see one approaching them. “Don’t touch us” - they say, “we will cry and be meaningless but not help you one bit”. Making one regret for ever using one. She knows yet she …

It was supposed to be funny - the dates and the days and their count, the continuation, marking the presence, the audacity. If the letter were written in ink, at least the tears would remove them from the existence. Don’t be sad. One promised. The pain’s coming back - big time this time. She knows yet she …

All is forgotten. All the lessons. They don’t stick. She knows that it is not going to happen without her, yet she … All that one is going through. Maybe she doesn’t know.