Sometimes, as you're organizing the overwhelming items in your car, donated to people affected by a natural disaster, your selfish, narcissistic loneliness overtakes you and you sit. Let it wash over you. Wash, because sitting in your driveway with the hug of a car door, crying until you choke on the lack of air in your lungs, should wash away whatever is ailing your soul.
It should, shouldn't it?
I suppose it depends on where the hurt comes from. Why it's still there. How, the next day, your tolerance for pain will be just a little bit stronger.
I hope.
I hope.
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I love you.
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