I shall have to die now, one way or another. Some men die in battle, and some in song. I die, I fear, incomplete. And yet, is that not a sort of immortality? The immortality of possibility? Maybe I’m just talking out of my hat. It seems to me that my heart’s been broken too many times now for it to really matter if it breaks again. It will break again, I’m sure. Oh well, I have said my goodbyes. Goodbye. Who knows but that I will be back. Yes, I will, I think. This brokenness I am always returns.
This Brokenness
Tale Told 