I feel as though history has been betrayed, personal and in the wider world. Those echoes from people I no longer like, or have never liked, never known. Those words told as advice or insults, now picked up by the mumbled voice inside the head. Sense and reason slightly mocking, all the more hurtful when the fall is greater. I cannot prove much personal thought over the previous two months, the pages of my diary remaining blank.
Unfortunately, my confidence has been dealth another blow. Not fatal, I note that life is not that cruel. Lessons are not learned, it would seem. Or lessons are not recognised as such at the time. Only later, on the train home, or the quiet solitude of a day separated by many phases of the moon. The false solace, such as it is. More than a quantum, if you will.
One day I will be tripped up for good, stuck in the mud, trapped by the tide. One day, my words will be left unspoken. History is now left unwritten, soon my voice too will be silenced. And then all personal history would be destroyed.