Even now, as the end nears, I feel the same as then, when it all began, thinking if I had to do it all over again, I would not have resisted, let her have it all her own way, let her become the body on the top of this heap, perhaps then all would have turned out differently, and I – while not better off I might have stumbled behind her, following the trail of breadcrumbs she leaves, satisfied with having something rather than nothing, the aftermath of self-inflicted pain she so eloquently expressed when she forgave me, which still might take me a life time to understand, yes you’re forgiven now go away, all this like a bad WWII movie, a devastated landscape that with a honest love might still have survived, unscathed, though too late now as we trip into the final scenes where willing surrender is no longer an option, only enduring what needs to be endured, forgiveness not even visible on the horizon.
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