It is a strangely liberating experience to use and even enjoy my own fears; to be afraid and still plunge ahead recklessly, always secure in the knowledge that J is there and will keep me safe even though he is the ultimate cause of my fears.It is a strangely liberating experience to use and even enjoy my own fears; to be afraid and still plunge ahead recklessly, always secure in the knowledge that J is there and will keep me safe even though he is the ultimate cause of my fears. There is a fundamental contradiction here somewhere, I know. Again, if (despite the contradiction) you think I'm not making sense, just remember that nothing makes sense. Where is it written that anything has to make sense? Wouldn't it be awfully boring if everything made sense? When we got home, we went into the living room, flopped down on the sofa, and kicked off our shoes. He put his arm around me and sat looking into the ashes in the fireplace. The time had come for me to tell him my answer to his unasked question. I got up and went into the kitchen. I ran some warm water in a basin and brought it back, putting it on the floor in front of him. |