The tumultuous journeys taken by those near and dear to me in the name of that thing called love are leaving me so exhausted! There's been too much weeping, too much agnonising, too much irrationality, yet I cannot bear to just mind my own business walk away, (how to turn in contempt?) because her pain is obvious, and I see how she aches, how she's torn apart within by all the "ifs", by love and loathing in turn, because unlike what I told her, I do empathise, even if only in fragile plys of tissues.
In any case, I found myself at a police station this evening, and if I do not type that down, I shall remain incredulous. As it is it feels fairly surreal still! The stories I heard there were sad but so real. I was not in trouble, don't worry. No I was there to provide a strange useless kind of support while she made a missing persons report. A missing persons report can you believe that? I cannot. It sounds like something from the movies, from the 7 o'clock, 9 o'clock shows on channel 8, and not something from college life in London.
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