Brother

The Suffering Frame

I walk into her room, and she is crying. "I don't know what to tell you," I say.

"I think that maybe it's just bad luck. We could have been born rich, and thin, and powerful. We could have been worth their time."

She nods, acknowledging that we're on the same page.

"I can't decide. I can't decide whether I'd rather have never met her, or whether the pain was worth the happiness. I mean, it's more pain than I've ever felt, but...I was happy."

I've been saying that "more pain than I've ever felt" thing a lot recently. I'm beginning to bore myself.

"So I don't know what to tell you. I don't know whether it's better to have never had it, or to have had it and lost it. I've been thinking about it a lot recently, and, if you look at it philosophically, it doesn't make sense. The pain is unavoidable. Either somebody gets dumped or somebody dies, there's no way out..."

"...but it's not just the ending, it's the whole concept. It's giving such a huge part of yourself to someone whose intentions you can never truly know; sacrificing so much of your freedom of choice for a few moments, or months, or years of pleasure."

These are words I've said before, a million times in my head, before Emily and after. I pause, let it go quiet. It's not even awkward.

"I want to blog this," I say. "Is there anything you want to say? Is there anything you want me to tell them?"

"It's retarded," she whispers.

{~><~}
My sister is in love, and alone. I am also in love. I am also alone. --Pauer
{~><~}
"Pain hardens, and great pain hardens greatly, whatever the comforters say. And suffering does not ennoble, though it may occasionaly lend a certain rigid dignity of manner to the suffering frame." --Antonia S. Byatt