To unburden the heart is seldom a simple thing.Most grievous is the attempt when one’s words must traverse the gulf between disparate estates of thought — where values stand so estranged that what is spoken in candour is received as naught but reproach.Yet there is a strange virtue in the ripening of one’s cares, in the sharpening of the very questions that weigh upon the soul. Still, such refinement exacts its price: speech grows ponderous, and what once fell lightly from the tongue now drags with unspeakable gravity. Thus is fashioned another sorrow, subtle yet inescapable, that clings to the spirit like a shadow.And so it remains a mystery—known only to the few, and understood by fewer still.
