[ It's frustrating, the way that framing makes it about John once again. Not about Harold being hurt but about John hurting him. That's why he'd needed space, to grapple with that himself, to move through his own feelings of hurt and loss enough to be able to approach John's. That part of him had turned callous in self-protection... and it's started to soften now, with enough other people letting him vent to them, more appropriate outlets than John. ]
John, [ he whispers, trying so desperately to find his eloquence. Now of all times it feels unbearable to be unskillful, with John finally saying out loud that he's dead. ]
Your death is what hurt me. There's no way I can live now without feeling the magnitude of that loss.
[ Harold tries to speak plainly, honestly, so there's no miscommunication. He stares at John's back as he stands over the stove and misses the line of his tailored suit across those broad shoulders, that upright spine. ]
no subject
John, [ he whispers, trying so desperately to find his eloquence. Now of all times it feels unbearable to be unskillful, with John finally saying out loud that he's dead. ]
Your death is what hurt me. There's no way I can live now without feeling the magnitude of that loss.
[ Harold tries to speak plainly, honestly, so there's no miscommunication. He stares at John's back as he stands over the stove and misses the line of his tailored suit across those broad shoulders, that upright spine. ]