I toy with these rings of sterling silver, and a chaos of thoughts marinate in my head. This New Age world I live in, one without an old love and bitter heartbreak, confuses my natural disposition towards living. For I love how I am in a way I could not have done at nineteen. My visions of your current chapter continue to visit me in flashes, but they no longer tease tears out of me. And so the ink well has threatened to dry, for the mess that I have been since late November exists solely as a lesson learned these days.
In a manner parallel to Newland Archer’s departure from an opportunity to see Olenska after decades of silence and separation, I now understand that we are prettier in my decaying memories.