it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be-
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

by e. e. cummings


This will likely be my last entry in this blog.

Yesterday, my fiance left me. It was sudden, brutal, cold. He had read me a story, comforted my worries not 12 hours previously. I woke up to an email that expressed worry, anxiety- and I reached out to talk about it. But he had already made up his mind. He had left me, and I found out by metaphorically coming home and finding his stuff gone. He was cruel when it came to it- all the love of the night before replaced with an emotional robot, Valmont saying over and over "it's beyond my control".

I don't feel the desire to write about sex anymore. I've been slacking on this blog anyway, so this is as good an end as any. Thank you for your time and your attention, and I wish you well.

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