Shut Doors

From D's journal, January 1996.
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Lord, I wish I believed in something.  I can't even stand my body is so heavy, weighing me down, an encumbrance I wish I was rid of.  K. said tonight: when you remember something, you see a picture, but where do you see it?  Not through your eyes?  Sometimes gems come from her, though she's closed to me, as I am from her.  But that's the nature of human beings, they can't ever really know each other.
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I had always envied him for his sharp eye for the truth; this was sadly true, probably, I was closed to him and he was to me.   I don't know how I can make it up to him for things he couldn't tell me,
all the thoughts and worries he kept to himself even though I was right there the whole time.