This is the End

Seemed over the summer that The End had arrived. Didn't know if I'd ever speak to her again, and wondering what she was doing to-niiiiiiiiiiite. We got back to-gether again - sweet, wonderful, sweet, wonderful - but for two weeks. Same deal.

And, needless to say, all my fault. It's nothing I did - just what i don't do. She'll be much the better off w/out me.

And shortness of breath, depression, lying in bed, weepy and sad. Wishing.

But, knowing.

That, most of all, it'll be great for her. No reason to stick around me. I'm mud @ this point. She'll be happy and better off. She already is happy. And better off.

Woman, you a-touched my soul, now. Wreckage, I cling to, the cold North Sea wishing to kill me now that my warship has sunk and I have nothing to protect me. What was imminent, no tilting on windmills or trying to ho back in in rushing sea will work.