I have plotted my course, even though I am more uncertain than ever where it might lead. It was not easy to get here, and I imagine it will be even harder to more forward, yet I am left with little choice but to dash as fiercely and wholeheartedly as I can. The strands of time show no mercy, and with each passing day it feels as if my dreams and aspirations drift further away. Sometimes I am stricken with this debilitating sense that perhaps I am not bound for greatness - neither in love or in life. Maybe I will be simply the boy in the middle, whose voice is too quiet to hear, his hands too short to reach, his gaze too distorted to see, and his mouth too shut to speak. Maybe this is the ending, or at least the beginning of the end - the collapse of the boy who was promised the moon, wished for the stars, then couldn't even reach the clouds.
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He will love you as profoundly as he loved her, and he shall try his best to ease the demons that try to convince him otherwise. He will be calm and patient and kind. He will forgive, he will be forgiven, and most importantly, he shall rise above the pain of the past. He will not let it control him, dictate his behaviour or eclipse the sunlight in his heart. He will live with the choices he is making this very second, even if they are not the brightest or the best - they are his alone, and so only his to regret. Then as he will stand there, staring at the life he's leaving behind, he is going to have to accept that it's gone, it's lost - just like you. All that will be left to do, is to remain very still, breathe in the moment and try to be open to wherever the wind is going to take him next.
