Goddamn, Sometimes It Hurt To Be Free.

Nothing Was Easier To Shatter Than The Fragile Shield Of An Idealist.

Jude Remembered This Pain. Every Woman Had Felt Some Version Of It: The End Of First Love. It Was When You Learned, For Good And Always, That Love Could Be Impermanent.

He Was Afraid That The Secrets She'd Kept Would Always Be Here, Inside Him, An Ugly Malignant Thing Lodged Near Enough To His Heart To Upset Its Rhythm, And Though It Could Be Removed, Cut Out, There Would Always Be Scars; Bits And Pieces Of It Would Remain In His Blood, Making It Wrong Somehow, So That If He Accidentally Sliced His Skin Open, His Blood Would--for One Heartbeat--flow As Black As India Ink Before It Remembered That It Should Be Red.

It Had Been Years Since She Question His Fidelity, But He'd Stepped On To The Old Fame Track Again, And That Was Where The Road Had Taken Them Before. Infidelity Could Be Forgiven, But Forgetting It Was Impossible. Strangely, That Wasn't What Bothered Her The Most. What Bothered Her Was That She Didn't Really Care.

I Always Thought It Was What I Wanted: To Be Loved And Admired. Now I Think Perhaps I'd Like To Be Known.