Hang me out to dry...

I'd rather die than let it go...

Still the dream persists, suppressed but always there, that somehow by some miraculous effort of the heart what was done could be undone. What form would such atonement take that would turn back time and bring the him back to life? 

Recently, I've been spending much of my time thinking about regret. Regret and its accompanying conviction that there is a perfect, placid life, my own alternate existence, pristine and simple, existing in a neighboring reality in which certain turns in the road were never set upon. A world where I made different choices and crossed paths with different people. A world I know doesn't exist and isn't true. I know that. I had learned it. But it is an irresistible fantasy, if only because it implies I have some control over my fate.

Let's talk about his pain...

I feel like a child building a sand castle. I embellish it with beautiful shells, bits of driftwood, and pieces of colored glass. The castle is mine, off limits to others. Ever so rarely do I let anyone visit. And even then, for such a small window of time. I'm willing to attack if others threaten to damage it. To go to war to protect it. Yet despite all my attachment, I know that the tide will inevitably come in and sweep the sand castle away. I'm learning to trick my mind to enjoy it fully but without clinging, and when the time comes, let it dissolve back into the sea.