I followed my heart. 
It lead straight to you (albeit with some unneeded unnecessary scenery during unplanned detours).
I bared it all. 
Freely.  
Honestly. 
With an authenticity that very few you ever meet will maybe manage to muster. 
Page after page. 
My words in the moments of our relationship.
Shared.
The thoughts.  The longings.  The sweat and tears of digging.  The coming to understand.  The steps forward.  
All towards you.

You rejected my manuscript, my heart.

It hurts like a camp fire flame to my soul.

I will heal. 

I wouldn’t change a thing, except the ending. 

(Volumes were meant to be written.
Together.
Instead, Chapter 1 will conclude with but five words: 
I love you.  The end.)