Watching Godzilla must have got my blood up, or maybe it's the wind, whipping the trees and blowing cold past my cheeks, but I'm having arguments with friends to whom I no longer speak.
They say the things they said that broke us, or they ask what they did. Sometimes they ask for forgiveness (which I sometimes give, or not), or angrily defend themselves.
In my imagination, I am strong, and righteous, maybe a little sad, like a hero in some tragic novel, confident in my isolation, only vaguely aware of my own ridiculousness.
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