Hmm.

If all this comes about it -- the reactions of avoidence of her images as typically induced to people I loved deeply -- then is the truth the idea that is contrary to what I had previously believed of myself; that it is not hate but love?!

And again, so love for what? Perhaps it is just as difficult a question to answer as the same for hate.

Slowly I begin to recognize and feel the honour in my passage and my sacrifice.

It is the constant reminder that there is always a better ending that I do not choose to end this mortal misery. There will always be an ending that will be better remembered.

So then is it she who baffles me or I who baffles myself?