I don’t believe in bad people and I certainly don’t believe in bad kids.

Sometimes it just hurts too much. Missing him.

There is such a danger of assuming that people don’t change. Don’t evolve. Everyone gets a sticky picture burned into their head of what someone was at a time period when everything seemed to be the objective truth and then can never move from there. People don’t often let people be. See them as they really are. As they are transforming mid-sentance. I think a lot of people have done that with my mom…imagined she is still who she was in high school or 20 years ago or 10 years ago. And that is such a shame. Because the transfomation of people is the most incredible thing to witness. And it is the most incredible aspect of people. It is terrifying. Truly, truly terrifying. But it is marvelous. I don’t even think the Adam Darrow that I met even exists anymore. He just evaporated and a thousand Adam’s have taken his place. Some people transform quite quickly. Too quickly. Some never change at all. Neither one is good or bad…but people should respect people’s journeys. That they are more than one splice in time. And we live and die a thousand deaths. And the people we are as children are both eternal and forever lost. And there RAPID transformation and rapid selves that come and go. The 6 year old Emlyn is a real, full being that existed but is now no longer. There is a real death that comes with the years of children’s lives. And it hardly ever happens on one particular day…people just move like smoke and breath and you can’t tie it down if you watch it…but suddenly you look away and you look back and the 10 year old is entirely displaced. Displaced. That’s what happens to people. They get displaced. By the new season. Identity is such a strange, fragile creature always seeping into us and out of us. All at once I am all of the me’s I’ve ever been and none of them. I don’t even think Max remembers me. He looks very, deeply happy. It makes me sad that I couldn’t make him that happy. It makes me endlessly sad in a way that could never be healed. I know our story is over. I know the door is barred shut. Why do I make so many men hate me? I always take something perfectly beautiful and make them build up 5,000 walls to keep me out forever. It’s a blood oath: love. And it is not to be trifled with. And it always leaves you sticky. I guess I can understand, in theory…why people are afraid of it. But to be afraid of it is to be afraid of life itself. What have you got to lose by being alive? What are you doing here if you’re not trying to be alive? To experience the fully horrifying, magical and amazing experience of being alive?

I really fear that Jeff and I fundamentally are growing in very, very different ways. There was a point when I think we thought we wanted the same things. But I got pregnant and everything changed. I started growing wings and he started growing roots. And now what he wants sort of terrifies me.


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