an early morning call with confusion, hurt, and despair in her voice, cloaked with a blankness that reflected shock. and me wondering how it felt, to her; this, that I had known would come, had been inevitable, but that she had been denying, refusing to accept, still hoping for a revival, from a near-demise, metaphorically.

some messages, many messages, full of sadness, hurt, accusations, helplessness. and me wondering what this meant, why it happened over and over again, what she was missing in having the protagonist's view, what was haunting her, and how this would play out, when it would stop. and also of course, whether i was being harsh in my judgments, in judging at all, in trying to empathize by putting myself in there, and also in trying to show her an unseen perspective, from where I could see.

and here i am. at the end of this day, tired, with aching limbs, with a sense of dread and of disgust, with my own life. and neither of them would understand. just like i don't understand them.