When An Airplane's Engines Fail,

It Wasn't That I Forgot Hanna. But At A Certain Point The Memory Of Her Stopped Accompanying Me Wherever I Went. She Stayed Behind, The Way A City Stays Behind As A Train Pulls Out Of The Station. It's There, Somewhere Behind You, And You Could Go Back And Make Sure Of It. But Why Should You?

The Past Has To Be Remembered, So That It's Never Repeated.

There's No Need To Talk About It, Because The Truth Of What One Says Lies In What One Does.

I Took All The Blame. I Admitted Mistakes I Hadn't Made, Intentions I'd Never Had. Whenever She Turned Cold And Hard, I Begged Her To Be Good To Me Again, To Forgive Me And Love Me. Sometimes I Had The Feeling That She Hurt Herself When She Turned Cold And Rigid. As If What She Was Yearning For Was The Warmth Of My Apologies, Protestations, And Entreaties. Sometimes I Thought She Just Bullied Me. But Either Way, I Had No Choice.

It Was More Dangerous Not To Go; I Was Running The Risk Of Becoming Trapped In My Own Fantasies. So I Was Doing The Right Thing By Going. She Would Behave Normally, I Would Behave Normally, And Everything Would Be Normal Again.