Do you ever wonder what she thinks when you’re far away? Do you ever wonder if she wonders who you really care about? There’s times I think she’s become my second, my afterthought. The aftertaste of all the women on my lips is fecal in smell, and venom in my sight. I could never hurt you in such a way, but reputation is a funny thing to behold. One small slip, and all you’ve ever done is lost to the sea. Lost to memory. The tempest of wills, the chorus of voices that would tell me to distance myself from you scream far and wide. Somehow, for reasons unbeknownst to everything but my eyes, I cannot heed them. I will not. I’ve carried this dove so far. To let it pass by the wayside now would be abuse, and worse, a murder of good conscious. I may have let them take my life once, but I will not let them take you too.