It's over.
It's really over.
And it is all my fault. I gave her the means and I gave her the reason.
I told her that until you tell someone a thing you don't make it real. If it's just inside your head, or just a secret between the two of you then it has no independent existence, no life - it isn't real. To become a part of history it must be observed.
And now she has made it real. It is a thing to be read. No-one will know it is us. It will an anonymous tale of two anonymous lovers but it is real now. From beginning to end. All stories have an ending but this should have been an epic novel spanning volumes before coming to some wonderful dramatic climax, not some flimsy novella to be absorbed and discarded.
Two people so much alike, divided. This could have been amazing.
I am undone.
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