You've got this whole other life to take care of--it feels like the responsibility was just dropped on you by some unseen force, and the war you feel inside between your selfishness and your conscience is overridden by instinct. You nurture because you must, but you keep hoping that fate will sweep in, do what it does, and take this burden away. So you don't have to make the tough choice, so you don't have to live with a dark, sick spot inside that tells you you aren't decent enough, that you are heartless.

Your eyes smile, inside a voice pleads, "Please let me go. Please stop loving me..."

A chill wind kicks up against your back, and in it is the first touch of fall. The coming cold is a secret that the bright summer sun does not betray.