Of course, there's time. Seems like a long time. It isn't.
It's hard not to blame a pretty thing I know, but it's not his fault.
I'll be blaming myself shortly, haven't got around to that yet - it's not my fault either.
But there's time. Just not enough. Probably never would be enough. Every time I touch you I'll be getting further away from you. It already aches.
It's late. I need to sleep. But how can I sleep or wake or breathe when something so central to my life is being dragged away like this? It's like trying to dance once the music has stopped.
No panic needed. This is just necessary public melodrama - nothing new has happened.