Please, be nice to me. Be gentle. Be kind.
I'm sorry. Sometimes I still expect too much.
We are getting better though. The breakdowns are fewer and farther between.
I thought that the fear had become greater, because of it... but now that I'm
looking closely at it I don't think that's true. It's not any better, and it's not any
worse. The fear is the same as it ever was.
Nobody wants to hurt. Pain is scary. And there is so much of it here. Inside.
We have to keep bleeding it out.
I don't like blood.
No one does. It's traumatic. And usually, blood belongs inside; good blood
shouldn't be seen. It shocks us when it's seen. But bad blood must come out.
Old blood, too. Or it turns to poison.
Yes. We know about poison.