Lamma Island, 1012:PM – Rain.

Entry 154

A friend and I have stopped speaking because his boyfriend is threatened by me. The request is relayed in plain terms and measured tones. My emotions are delayed because the conflict is invisible to me, like poison. And the run we just ran spans 5 kilometers. Endorphins dull things. Days later, the rain adds a physical quality to the seeping of my irritation, too late. Is it time to grieve this friend? Or will they come back when my term as scapegoat is up? There is probably no need to be so final about it. How funny to be thought a threat. How unlikely. How unlike me. The degree to which it is not me is the degree of fear and grasping experienced by the other. How small of them. Small things on our island tend to loom large, as if magnified.