Beloved, there were times when I wanted to be rid of you. Rid of all of you: your memory, your scent, you and your eyes and you too. Perhaps it was the last gasp of my sanity. Oh, it matters not.

You haunted my dreams. Worse still, I haunted you in my dreams. When my soul got dark and the days were looping one another, I dreamt that you heard my name on the wind. And that you came to me.

I dreamt that my voice was siren-like and that you came to break upon my shores.

Sleep or awake, it was always you. There was never any respite and I was content with it. But I wanted out, sometimes in the night.

Of course, there was no easy way out. There never is.

***

Beloved, the road to hell is paved with your laughter.