Compulsion

I feel compelled to write again about this girl, ad nausium, as though she will appear because I do. She said “You’ve got to let her go, because her pain will only grow; you’ll reap what you have sown! It’s only selfish,” But I know that behind those words, She thought, “Your children are like swords to me—oh, aren’t I adored? It’s now, you fool, or never!” And when she knew that I would stay, She lingered for a bit to pray then carried on her way, and we wrote letters. We talked about the things that changed about me, and of her deranged arrangement with a Northern man, among whom she had darkled. Then she fell into an abyss. I may have saved her with a kiss, but when the chance had come to her, she missed; may God forgive her.