Linda has moved in with Gene. He emptied his storage room for her, and of course I was the one who helped carry it all out. Much of the junk found its way here, which I suppose was my own way of filling the void Carolyn left behind, albeit unsuccessfully. They both seem much happier now, and I’m happy for them even though it makes me miss Carolyn that much more, that Gene now has what I no longer do and that at the end of the day I return to an empty bed while they share theirs together. But good for them; I think they’ll make it. And I’m happy for them both.

So much pain in this world. So much sadness and regret. I wonder how much of both it’s possible to endure. I also wonder how much we bring upon our own selves, by our own means. Most of it, I should think.

So what’s next for me? I haven’t the slightest idea. Only in Hollywood do stories end conveniently wrapped in a neat little bow. I truly don’t know, but if I could say just one thing to her now, it would be that I’m trying, Carolyn.

In the end, we are who we are, but I’m trying.

But enough of that. This is, after all, my love story, and I fervently believe there’s enough love in this world for everyone, if only people would take the time to look for it. But of course, finding love is only half the battle, like writing the first draft of a long book; the work has only just begun. It had been my philosophy for a long time to do without the things I couldn’t bear to lose. Though, truth be told, I never was very good at it. But I’m still here, still fighting the good fight even while not knowing just what that is half the time. And there is always hope. Always.