"This is what I give you," he says, through a grimace of pain. "I give you this when I have nothing left. I do this. These fights, they're not for me...they're for you. This does nothing for me. This does not help me. I'm doing this for you." It's a gift that cuts. It's deep and my bones are exposed to the cold so I scream in return. I lash violently. I drag weapons out of reservoirs because I'm losing. I'll never get what I want. Just this stinging evil and the look of pain that accompanies it. All I want is love but I must not know the word because every time I reach for it this happens. He tells me he gives me this- his sorrow, as though it were something I could cherish and cradle. As though it must be what I want. It's the only thing I seem capable of pulling. It's where all conversation heads. So it must be what I want. It's not just that I'm lost in a thorny hedge-maze. This was my goal all along. Pain. Forever....
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