There are times when I regret the choices I have made in my life--the choices made for me by Mother and Father's deaths so very long ago. There are nights when I want nothing more than to rest, read the paper, have a glass of wine, enjoy the passage of time.
I watch Grayson with a degree of envy--he is young, handsome, has not a care to his name. He knows nothing of the violence in the world outside his door, nothing of the evil which surrounds him, surrounds us all. He is lost in the minutiae of his existence. He does not seem to realize it, but he is a happy man. I fear I have shattered his illusions; as is so often the case, my mere presence in his life may have brought his happiness to an end. And yet I feel we are now drawn together by a force beyond my power.
I've already told him more than I've ever told anyone else.
I want to tell him so much more.
I can only hope he's ready.