The footing is different now, less slick, feeling much more treacherous. I can't fathom what changed it so.

Everyone digs for pieces of others, it's not that I don't. When I probe it's a culling of weakness, safety in knowing where another will crack with just a tap. Or the exultation of well matched wit, keen-edged. They have different reasons I couldn't gather; blunt curiosity, gossip, ammunition, feigned caring.
'Poor Sehdae, so shattered. If we find out why, we can glue the scattered pieces back in place ~~bonding in friendship as we do.' I've plenty friends, ones who don't push at my supposedly fractured psyche.
**ink blots the page here before the writing continues** I don't judge them, as he does. They even bring amusement some turns. I just don't understand them.

I grasp the why of the first, the last seems another delusion. Giving honorable purpose to instinct and boredom, perhaps.
There is no true care without acceptance, without a basic knowing.
What purpose in them knowing what our relationship is?
'He can touch you? Why? You love him?'
As if they are shocked and need a definition, a book, to understand how I function.
It's not that confusing. I trust him to kill me quickly, should the desire take him, and nothing more. Like Kade I trust in him to be blunt and truthful where it counts. No lording of greater height and superior strength. No veiled overtures. I expect him to lash out, expressive, and true when I anger him-- and I do inevitably anger him. Not backhanded whispers, but snarling and thrown dagger before it is done. This is honest. More than I can say for most.

So I allow him to give me discomfort. Pain, to bring him comfort. To express the sting of his absence- it is not so much to pay.
Bared neck, payment in kind.

We should've gone elsewhere, right as ever. I didn't care at the time. Perhaps I'm slipping even on well traction-ed ground.

'We don't explain ourselves to sheep' The advice still makes me laugh, even as I try to adjust the paradigm slightly.

Long. bleating noses are best kept out of my way. I've not changed enough to resist removing them from my space, forcefully. I miss the feel of shattering bone, even if I've experienced it recently, and my restraint is always so very thin...


I regret hinting he should change, only. Seek contentment and purpose as you are. You always have a place...

It's what I should've said.
Bad as ever at such things, I pressured the stress-point instead.

Perhaps I attempt to justif ------ **The scattering of chicken-scratched thoughts, script unusually sloppy, ends abruptly with truncated, ripped words on a torn off page edge.**