Sting in the Tale

I've actually been more affected by that poem going up online than I thought I would be, or than I probably have any right to be.

One of the hard things is knowing he wrote it when he loved me, thinking about me; for me. And now it's just another sale.
And, nothing to do with his doing, there is a dreadful synchronicity to the timing of the publishing of the thing.
And, connected to that timing, a ghastly horror story in itself in my publishing life has unfolded and taken on a life of its own, simply out of me trying to do something nice.

I never learn.

All the stress is, as usual, rather bad for me. This time, added to a number of pill-related complications, there is a chance I will be seeing the inside of a hospital ward for a few days this week. Certainly I'll be seeing a new doctor or two. It's all a bit scary.

And right now, I can't help but wish he was here.