The only regret really... You never witnessed the transformation from desolation, from the witless resignation to all being all there was to be. The barefoot wilderness I have arrived at was some journey, I swear. Recess and progress to the magnificence of a mind freed... Look, I am priceless!

Oh how often have I wished you'd caught a glimpse here and there - you know, peeking in, saying bravo she's done it, turned out fine. Despite. The young impetuous, tear away infatuated castaway hung-up-on-being-with thing I was presenting once.

You started it. The journey bringing me to this miraculous, fantastical existence. If not for you and the words torn from yourself from the tearing of me, if not. Sometimes I catch myself looking over my shoulder feeling you older, fonder. How else? If not imagining you seeing?