You stole my heart like a thief in the night -
stopped in your tracks in the middle of a fight.
To make it right, let the brimstones burn.
I’ll let you live yours, now let me have my turn.

- Theophilus London, Why Even Try

-+-

"Why?"
"Because you're exemplary." 
"No.  No, I'm not." 

-+-

I heaved a sigh.  I am yet to tell if it was out of relief or exasperation, or if it was out of sadness and regret.

As I looked in the mirror, it resonated in the forefront of my mind, over and over again.  It keeps ringing, not like a bell, but like an alarm.

"You didn't tell him out of strength, and you didn't see him because you're some iron woman.  Why are you doing this?  This isn't about 'moving on,' this isn't about a 'leap of courage,' and this isn't about 'not losing time.'  You did it because you're weak and you're afraid.  You're afraid, so you destroyed what you built and you killed what you had because it scared you, so you had to close that door, and you made sure that you closed it forever.  

You didn't do it because you had to answer your questions.  You did it because you were afraid of your questions.  So you suffocated them.  You forced the answer to be no, because you are so afraid of not only yes, but of what you're asking in the first place.  It's one thing to be afraid of being human.  But I honestly wonder: 

is it because you think you don't deserve to be human?

...

You have to stop fucking up."

I have no options left but to move forward.  And as empty as it feels: mission accomplished, I guess.  It's not that I lack the luxury of looking back.  It's that I murdered it with my bare hands.

I heaved a sigh.  I'm already so exhausted.

Whether I'm ready or not - it's time to take you on, spring semester.