Here is an experimental technique I’m trying out, to write a cohesive and comprehensible story using only images/quotes found on Google, linked by a few words.
Everything you read here is the semi-biographical truth of one aspect of my real life. Read it and weep, or laugh. Whatever floats your boat. I wept last year, this time round I’m laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.
And even if it never gets to the bed, due to geographical differences, if you’ve entertained lustful thoughts and acted them out online with each other, then, my dear, you are an adulterer. I don’t care what your sainted mother or priest or friends all say, of course they would back you up, they only know your side of the story.
So, you either lied to Her, or to Me. Or to both of us. It doesn’t matter, it still makes you the Boy Who Cried Wolf. How do I know when you’re telling the truth anymore, or if you ever did, for that matter? I’ll just err on the side of caution, and treat everything you say or do as a lie. That way, I can either be justified, or otherwise pleasantly surprised, and never disappointed.
Finally, I managed to get him to squeeze out an admission of guilt. But not of remorse. So in turn I forgave, but did not forget. Without remorse, an expression of guilt made by coercion is useless. If the person does not believe he’s done wrong, he’ll continue doing it. As was the case here.
And so here we are now…I have one, he has the other. Or maybe he doesn’t. I don’t know, and it really doesn’t matter anymore, in the grand scheme of things. If this were a horse race, it’s a non-starter.