Yes, it probably is for the best, but that doesn't make me any less tormented; no, that certainly does not make me any less sad or demented.
I will though carry on with my words, right up to the last, I might even second guess, what words you might have pressed into my half-life of fantasy and despair.
In those days, which panned out grand with reasonable repair; to stand on the seashore, or to climb up the dunes, forever to see more than the end of our good fortunes.
So I go into the morning, into the beginning of the day, I go there with a warning, for I can't ever be expected to do any more than stay.
The car behind passes me by, then edges me on, I read from the road sign but I read it way wrong, the road is to be closed soon, in about another week.
New pathways I will follow, new pastures I will seek; I don't have the peace, gifted by a morning meditation, on these early starts for my long drive to my work.
I don't have the doubts of the now closed-shop federation, I don't have the reluctance, nor the reasons to shirk.
In a short while this will be over, that's why I write to you so, for I don't want to end, no I do not want to end without ever letting you know, that yes, sadly, I am letting you go.
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