August 6, 2015

She called me up, yesterday; sweet and jovial as usual- then somewhat hesitant at the end- when she asked whether I was free to meet up for coffee. That she has a nagging issue she’d like to talk about.

And thinking of her well being, and wiling as ever, I said of course I was free.
So we meet for coffee. And she begins, “It’s about your nude photos online…I am concerned,” she says; and touching my hand affectionately the way one does when denying a child a cookie, she adds, “Perhaps you should tone it down…”

And I smile kindly and gently touch her lips with the tip of my finger, asking for a minute to say something myself.
And in that minute I asked her, “Do you know of my persistent depression and suicidal thoughts I have had for years?”
She nodded, sympathetically I think.
“…but you were never concerned enough to speak of that over coffee, were you?” I asked her.

We have not spoken since. I doubt we ever will.
Because you don’t need people in your life, who think you’re better off dead, than alive and naked and liberated.

Journal: Oct.26.2020
Made of Sand
Not Dura, but Alaminadura

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