Friday, October 17, 2003


When bridges are burned, they stay burned.

When a person lies, steals, maligns, avoids dialogue and runs from confrontation from me, there is no way in heaven that a return to grace can be created. Some things are vitiated immediately by history, context and persona.

Even if pseudo-apologies are given years later.

Even in the face of a fatuous “road to Damascus” moment involving little girls and tragic roadside accidents.

Or a self-imposed exile.

Certainly not with a heartfelt froufrou letter (which, on the superficies, is immediately insulting). Nor an awkward civil greeting.

Trust, when lost, is nigh impossible to recover. It sits in the trash bin with other accoutrements of a lost friendship.

Stay dead, you assholes.


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