An iniquitous Gordian Knot, self-indulgent and strangulating, is the desire to unburden my metaphysical suffering when the nature of that hurt hurts you, casting a shadow in your life that darkens mine again and in turn. The "desire" isn't the culprit, really: the psychological mechanisms of retreat, defense, biological imperatives, a clutch of factors puzzling themselves into coherence, a yearning for completion or truth or another name to valorize and justify this urgency in me--these are all co-conspirators in drawing out words from my mouth that silence the good mood between us.
Whatever "it" is, "it" is not our material circumstances, nor anything pitted about my love for you, nothing wrong or false or unhappy. "It" is the morbid nature in me, and the inability to gain pacification through anything but myself.
There's nothing tarnished in this course of us. I mean you no pain and seek none. I'd ask you to forgive me for airing my feelings this afternoon, which while not transgressing all principles did violate the emphatically Catholic one I believe: don't hurt anyone.
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