You give me the pleasure of having an audience, Part 1

July eighteen, the week is brilliant and imperfect.

It started as K stopped writing me—no, she didn't stop, only she wasn't responding promptly.

This time I'm not waiting—as well as for Friday, among other things, to come.

Each day has been long, but not without a good rest. Right to say each day is complete.

I've reached that point where one completely loses trust in the universe. Every day I wake with the affirmation that I am liable. The world buys from me joys and sufferings.

Now how to deal with this knowledge? That once words get out of its human cage, it will die or live with other persons. Your words might find their own fullness after you. I can never get mad when my words are used innocently and maliciously and against me; all I can be is responsible.

July twenty-nine and K replied with an apology for lateness. As if we need measure punctuality in these meetings, as if replying is her obligation.

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