Friday, 30 August 2013


You know what?
I can get over the loss of self-worth. I will overcome the loneliness. I look back, and already I see that the worst is behind me; I cannot connect with those sobs that so recently were uncontrollable. I am not the woman who, a few weeks ago, would be swept by a sudden and irreversible need to cry - I no longer have to run to the bathroom a couple of times per shift just to give myself room to breath again.
I will get over it.
But there is one thing I don't think I'll ever reclaim, and it's a damn hard thing to give up.
My favourite book.

He became my Rhett Butler.
This book, this story that I have adored since I was innocent enough not to see the inherent racism. A book I re-read at least once a year, a book that is at once a duvet of comfort and yet still a call to arms.
I didn't realise until the last minute that he lacked that essential redeeming feature; loving Scarlet.
To me, he is Rhett - clever, ruthless and oh-so-cool. I cannot read my favourite story without putting him centre stage.
That - more than ruining the future that I had planned, more than dashing the excuses that I drew for my past - That. I cannot forgive. The rest I will re-write, such is human nature. But GwtW? That was sacred, and you sullied it. There are no words.

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