I am fortune's fool to have fallen captive to a love so passionately tenuous, so young as to be frail, but beautiful in its frailty nonetheless. I am loath to exhale, to open my eyes, to exist, for fear that each breath and blink will usher on the rapid passage of time, leaving me shocked and shuddering--alone. I was prepared, even eager for solitude. Now, the price of solitude is severance. But, is it not better to live? If, as I have espoused repeatedly throughout the self-realization of the last year, my greatest fear and hatred is of mediocrity, then yes, I would rather taste the sweetest of joys and the bitterest of defeats than the blandness of boredom and stability. The realization thereof which I have only touched upon as I write it upon this page forces goosebumps to ripple over my skin, but in their wake tingles anticipation. Yes, I am fortune's fool, but at least fortune has bothered to notice me at all. All that remains is to muster the strength to choose life.
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