August 2, 2012

How difficult it is, in spite of maturity, growth, result, and passage of time, for me not to feel bad about so significant a possibility not experienced, about a decision so momentarily made yet lastingly recalled, indeed a wrong way taken at the veritable fork in the road. How I despise my memory, that it lasts so long, recalls so easily, reliable and detailed, pulsing within an impassioned and wantonly rhapsodic, if intrinsically melodramatic, soul.

Sigh. Alright, I'm done.