I am nearly miserable. I may have betrayed a confidence. The memory plays tricks—-was I cautioned to hold the story close to the vest? I don't trust my own mind. Different motivations can affect what we hold as truth, as memory. Dammit.
I value the truth, and I value holding my tongue. It is a terrible thing when these priorities are not compatible, and especially when we do not realize any incompatibility until it is too late.
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