know what I've been looking for — and now that I have it in my hands — I move forward with purpose and skepticism.
I know better than to trust anyone; the nameless woman in my dream told me that was my fatal undoing in my last chapter.
I know not to play nice, to cook dinner, to be a great boyfriend or good partner.
I know the foolishness at bleeding over things I never needed.
The thought of needing just a small adjustment to make things better: laughable.
The notion of becoming a happy little writer? What the fuck was I thinking?
New Ron still rules this roost. But in the middle of him is this solid core of cold. It's 90-plus degrees outside and I feel like I'm freezing inside. I used to think that would be a horrible way to feel. But now that it's here, I don't mind it so much. Some would call it a bitter outlook on life. I would call it realistic. And at least it fills up part of my insides so I don't feel so empty. That's something good, yes?
I'm hanging in there. I have to see how the story ends.
Onward. Forward. No looking back.