This should be a pretty self-explanatory post, but maybe it isn't. I guess I've just been thinking a lot. My writing teacher got me thinking when he asked us to write a list of all the people we've ever been romantically involved with, and to make a profile highlighting one of them. And I wasn't sure to pick the best one or the worst one, because both bring me heartache. It's true, you know. You don't know what you've got until it's gone, but I knew what I had even then, and I couldn't hold onto it. I'm not just saying this to make myself feel better; there truly was nothing we could do. I had to get back on the plane. I had to go back home. So why do I feel guilty, still? There's no possible way I could have stayed with him on the other side of that pond we call the Atlantic. So why do I feel like I should have anyway?