It’s all come back to get me.
She, who has hated and been frightened by me.
She, whose level of fear is not clear.
She, whose memories lives in the folds of the mind.
Her name, “beloved,” in the language of love.

Why is this happening?
Why can’t it go away?
Can’t this love be destroyed, like it needs to be?
Or am I condemned to carry it across my back,
Until the harps æternal ring from the farther shore,
And call me to that land of perfect rest,
Among the mansions of the blest.