Oh, dear Jesus, my wife is married to another man because I was not a man. I can't live without Debby. How can this be? I'm needing her and needing her and she doesn't come. One word, Debby. Just one word would change my life. I have humiliated myself, walking around covered in piss. Part of me seeks that. In shame I run from her, in need I run to her.
There's a story in Japan of a farmer's wife taken by bandits. She is used by them. When the husband sneaks in to the bandit's camp with attacking samurai, she sees him. The husband is ripped in two as he looks upon her surrounded by all the sleeping men. Should he pick honor or life? For her, the answer is simple. She runs back into the burning hut and ends her life of shame. Tragedy all around. Unlike me, they had committed no sin. But I know the feelings of both.
In anger I see her as Pharaoh's wife; the whore of Babylon. When it fades, I see her as just another lost soul trying to survive in this world. I can't want to live and not want her. As I rinse away the horrors of the day it all comes back to me at night. This is unbearable. I've got to rest. When I free myself from my web of lies, when I can finally stop running and find some peace, the first question always asked is: Where's Debby?
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