Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!

I first heard news of his engagement about 3 months ago. Not from him, though. From her. I don't know which felt like a greater betrayal-of love or of the last vestiges of friendship we had yet preserved.

Since then, I have been sitting down, bearing down, on a feeling of anger trying to ensure that no part of me betrays that truth; while I am fully aware that he will derive no true pleasure or satisfaction-I feel like allowing him that feeling of being "prized" is more than he deserves. Maybe I am being silly.

I guess I would, if I could, seek comfort in a friend regarding this but I am unsure if that is possible --a reflection of my friendships as equally as of my understanding of this completely hopeless situation.

For the record:

I do not wish to attend any associated ceremonies or celebrations.

I do not wish to congratulate either of them.

I do not wish to pretend to share with them a smidge of joy regarding this.

Hell, I do not even wish to ever use this word-joy-in any meaningful context.

So, that leads me to wonder... How does one reach the "frankly, my dear..." state of affairs? Ultimately, it appears, life is a series of events, staring you down, holding a placard that reads: "suck it up, bitch".

Summarising Goa Unkindly

Gold flakes. Light.
Passed around.
Brightly burnt.

You. Your arms holding.
Never me.
Me. My arms always holding.
Cold cold breezers. Or anything poured in glass.
Breakable. Often broken.

Alone in a crowd.
Friends. Family.
Just not mine.
Never mine.

The beach so sunny
So hot on the skin
now so dead.
Losing memories and creating realisations.
Me, always running. Away.

Truths I'd rather not see.
Never have seen.
Context, perspective.
A horizon too far to say.
--h.c