words

words are spilling from my mouth but writing them down makes them feel uncomfortable concrete. i never existed in his life, a friend he had a fling with so he could be with her.
god its like i have written this story before, foreshadowing my own epilogue. i dont want to look at his things anymore, i just want to move on in all areas of my life.
the garden is going to need a lot of work, george is going to have some trouble initially adjusting to the new space, i will need to learn how to live in less, much much less.
i wish i could have had the strength to prevent this but him moving on so quickly just makes it all the harder to get over it. it doesn't feel legitimate anymore i feel like a filler for someone's year in france. im simply the fallow field, the damn canola crop that no one even wants but just earns some profit.
FUCK. all my words are so shadowed, maybe because im moving too quickly.