“I’m not showing you weakness. I’m showing you my feelings. There’s a difference.”
It’s clear he’s positioning himself.
“I’m not showing you weakness. I’m showing my feelings. Take care with them.”
I am in an argument. Now.
We didn’t start off that way. In an argument. But here we are now. Arguing. For what?
I’m sharing my feelings and he’s in pity mode.
No, motherfucker, is what I want to say. But I’m not going to. No, motherfucker, these are feelings. I’m a human being. Do you know them?
He doesn’t. I know this. But it still makes me wonder, what is he made of? Tar, pepper and glue? Like some strange papier mache?
He is human too, no? But feelings are strange to him. He doesn’t prize feeling.
But I don’t dare stoke that fire. I can feel myself tensing up; wanting to get harsh with him to protect myself. No, I’m not interested in going there – diminishment. He doesn’t deserve punishment. Damage beyond recognition. He’s far more than that. He’s worthy of his life. Worthy of mine.
What do I do to get out of punishing mode? Sit for a minute.
So I do.
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