When An Airplane's Engines Fail, It Is

It Wasn't That I Forgot Hanna. But At A Certain Point The Memory Of Her Stopped Accompanying Me Wherever I Went. She Stayed Behind, The Way A City Stays Behind As A Train Pulls Out Of The Station. It's There, Somewhere Behind You, And You Could Go Back And Make Sure Of It. But Why Should You?

It Was More Dangerous Not To Go; I Was Running The Risk Of Becoming Trapped In My Own Fantasies. So I Was Doing The Right Thing By Going. She Would Behave Normally, I Would Behave Normally, And Everything Would Be Normal Again.

Now To Escape Involves Not Just Running Away, But Arriving Somewhere.

I Thought That If The Right Time Gets Missed, If One Has Refused Or Been Refused Something For Too Long, It's Too Late, Even If It Is Finally Tackled With Energy And Received With Joy. Or Is There No Such Thing As "too Late"? Is There Only "late," And Is "late" Always Better Than "never"? I Don't Know.

Why Does What Was Beautiful Shatter In Hindsight Because It Concealed Dark Truths?