I used to think that there would always be enough time.

I don't know, looking back. I felt we always had enough time. I feel like I could put it off, talking about that gnawing feeling in my gut. It's that worm, you see. But you seemed so busy and it was always never a good time to talk. I thought I would have enough time to talk about the worm, while you went off through the door and came back happier than ever, hand and heart full of another's. There would always be time, I thought so, the worm thought so too.

It got a bit hungier, more gnashing against my intestinal walls reaching up through gut, diaphragm, bone, rib, and eventually liver. I learned to ignore it thoughl; you were a busy person after all, and you seemed happier now.

I always thought there would be enough time, then I opened my mouth and slammed all the doors between us. It was an embarrassing moment of pain, I was still feeling my way around in the dark with that one, and I cried. I said the first thing that came to my head, I thought it was so that you wouldn't have to worry about me (you're a busy person) as I scraped and bruised and bled around on all fours while scrambling for the shattered bits of my homonculus. It came across as me slamming the door to your face, according to you. And I get that.

It took what felt like years of reaching out, gluing pieces together, knocking gently on our old door before you opened and told me it was all my fault, I explicitly asked for this. Cleared a lot of things up, that one did. It really was all my fault though, honest, but I would've appreciated a little bit more of a reaction when I tried to talk during the interim, under the illusion of us being cordial. It's ok though, you're always so busy tending to the garden and the soil and the rot and the worms to think about what I'm thinking. It's ok, you're very busy.

On some days I would think about what I would do if I had more time, if I had enough time. On some days I wonder if you even think about all of this, or at least to a level that I do. You probably don't. You're a very busy person, after all. I've learned to live with the worms.