Building white picket fences...

Everything I have always dread is coming true. Just when I thought I've reached the pinnacle of all my needs, it seems that I was never meant to have my cake and eat it too. It's either love or success, and as clockwork, one blasts towards the sky as the other falters. The thing is, I don't think I can live with myself this way. As simply someone who is happy and is not celebrated or admired or adored. I'm not sure you're worth it ... if we're worth it. I'd rather be alone than forgotten and as it turns out, life is once again making me choose. I really don't know what to do, how to explain that while I love you, I love myself more, and I'm not willing to jeopardize the path to every dream I've ever dreamt, to every wish I've ever wished, to every song I've ever sung.

Just as he finally admits that it is time to ride off to regions unknown, he is stricken with a debilitating sense of panic. He is scared that he will never talk to you again. That he won't be able to gaze into your eyes and see his reflection. He is afraid he will never feel the same about anyone else, and that you will find someone who won't run away, and whisper in their ear all the beautiful things you're whispering to him as you embrace after being engorged in each other. The thought of him becoming a mere memory - a bad experience you shall learn from - tears him to bits, and makes him realise that while you are nothing like he expected, you may very well be the life he is meant to lead. Perhaps you are his exception, his glory, his win, his destiny, someone who shall make him forget that the tempest at sea has never raged with fiercer force, and remind him that he is strong, because he has been weak, and that he is fearless, because he has been afraid.