It was the legitimate misuse of an emotion.
An abuse so terrible, yet so necessary.
An awful uproar of my inner thoughts
Raised question to the authenticity of my actions.
In other words, was I doing the right thing?
Pouring through me like a river were the matters,
Matters of truth that had not
And would not be revealed to me.
I was asked to question myself.
In other words, can I do this alone?
Tripping over my own intellectual ideals,
I came to the most straightforward of answers.
And though it seemed as if I could indecisively grasp it,
Nay, it fell escape to my stranglehold, and fled my very existence.
In other words, no.
So whether I am to press on or leave this world behind,
I do not, and cannot know.
I must search what little life I have lived for the answer.
The truth shall be revealed, so to speak.
In other words, was leaving her the correct thing to do?
