To Cut, To Chase

by Sine Qua Non

I have been very fond of the word ‘pursuit’. I’ve also been quite intimidated by the thought of it. The idea that I am the one doing the chase still scares me. Or now that it has come up again, the need to do so already gives me the jitters.

I am in anticipation although I feel a little numb and in forced detachment. I know that there is a tiny but deeply embedded part of me that longs for him. And I hate it. yes, I hate that part right there. If only I know where it is, I’d hunt down that flea-of-a-feeling and squish its guts out with my fingers. Sick.

Is that then what I should pursue? To chase that part of me that intends to run away and chase him?

This is what it has become: I am not merely pursuant of him anymore. I am actually after the part of me that seeks to pursue him. To save me from the pains of pursuit. My woes have given birth. The complications unbearable.

Aren’t pursuits supposed to be beneficial? To be reasonably good?

 

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