Year Five.

It was the first thing that she'd asked of me, and she knew it would be hard met. Hesitatingly I agreed, upon the promise that the old ways could be gone back to. It was the first thing that she reneged upon; the ink hadn't been penned let alone dried yet on her contract. By all outward appearances she had forgotten her promise, but I knew. She'd said too much and was too eager and when I stopped replying she was too forgiving. A lie, however little, is a cancer. Once you've lost your good name -- your word -- what have you left? And what route lies before us...?

I have a mind, in the quiet of a relenting cell phone and at the wane of a battle that feels won for now (how ridiculous will life become,) to dig my heels into the sand and to remain, where ere I was. The move was for her benefit, not mine, and she has called to question the faith of what would have been a staunch ally, and over so little a thing. A thing that was not even in question, for it was the first thing that was agreed upon. No longer allies. I hate to be closer in her counsel if promises can so easily be torn asunder. Do leaders in all their vocations so readily seek to make chess matches out of the people surrounding them? By being too sympathetic, I have wasted my life. That chapter I will look on fondly, and with a certain pride, and will draw strength from. The more so that it is ended.