Well, I am escaping, really. I know this is true because the treacly, molasses-like, sappy feelings in my heart are still stirring. I cannot put her out of my mind (I do not want to put her out of my mind) and I marvel at AB’s fortitude, given that he has much more going for him… (what I would give for a sligh fraction of such hope) and still he is sure, he will not turn back on his path. I, with much less hope, am willing, still unsure why I must walk this road, this road likely to lead to my damnation, if I cannot hold it in.

Why is any of this that important to me?

So, if I forget her, truly forget, then I cannot help but feel I will be lost. (I feel sharp visceral pains.) I cannot swim out into that sea again, hoping, even as the cold seeps into my very bones. (And yet as I write it, I know that that is precisely what I need to do.) But, still I will not forget her. I have buried the dream before (all my dreams [lie under] the soil) and I must do so again. If, coming home, I disinter it and it still shines (and she is still there) then I will know. But I cannot hope, I can only let this weet pain seep into my blood, and remember that what God’s grace has brought me, and what he has taken away.

There is no virtue in this sick, sad letting go, make no mistake, only that it must be done. I will not say that it was pre-ordained. I know better than that. But this is the best solution I can muster, with what little I know, and all that is left is to shed tears. I cannot help but feel like I am [committing an act of betrayal against myself.]