Goddamn, Sometimes It Hurt To Be Free.

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.

And Maybe That Was How It Was Supposed To Be...joy And Sadness Were Part Of The Package; The Trick, Perhaps,was To Let Yourself Feel All Of It, But To Hold On To The Joy Just A Little More Tightly.

If She Wasn't Careful, She'd Slide Without A Ripple Into The Gently Flowing Stream Of Her Old Life, Pulled Back Under The Current Without A Wimper Of Protest. Another Housewife Lost In The Flow.

I Didn't Know How...deep Love Ran, How It Was In Your Blood, Not Your Heart, And How That Same Blood Pumped Through Your Veins Your Whole Life.

Some Stories Don't Have Happy Endings. Even Love Stories. Maybe Especially Love Stories.