How are you feeling?

[Possibility of Being]

Now I’m just sitting here trying to figure out if that’s really going to happen, or she’s cooling off. I don’t want to be alone in this house we spent so much time and money furnishing together. Our entire lives are here.

Sitting there is not going to help anyone. Go and kneel in front of her and apologize. Really apologize. And apologize again. If you love her.

 

[Evan]

Sitting there is not going to help anyone. Go and kneel in front of her and apologize. Really apologize. And apologize again. If you love her.

She’s sleeping. Truth be told I’ve done it a thousand times. She doesn’t want to hear me talk right now. I wrote her the following the morning after:

My Dearest,

In a life where every day is the same as the last, and the next, I am grateful. I’m grateful for the sight of you sleeping in your bed, the sound of your little waking chattering with the baby (our cat), and for the first daily sight of your smile. Without those things, this life, with its pain, its illness, its mundane day to day sameness, there is no light. There is only sadness and surrender. I’m so deeply remorseful of my many fatal flaws; so very despairing of the pain they bring to you; the hurtful impact upon your life and spirit. I cannot ask for forgiveness or beg for yet another chance to be someone I’ve repeatedly proven incapable of becoming. I can only hope that you will know, beneath it all, that my love for you is and always has been as real and true as anything I’ve ever believed in. The idea that you’re prepared to go is something that I cannot express in words. I can only hope, not ask, but hope that you’ll find a way to move forward without moving away. Not from me. Please, my sweet, don’t let me push you away until I’m in the dark. Please let there be some other way to stay in the light with you.