But I have a hard time believing you could ever be afraid. You would be surprised, Sam. For instance, I’m afraid now. I caught his meaning. You are afraid that you might never come back. Yes, Sam. How do I release you? I asked. You’re doing it now. And how, exactly, am I doing that? By reaching out to me, connecting to me, bringing me out of the funk I was in. You call this a funk? It’s the funkiest of funk, Sam. Limbo, actually. A dull state where days and weeks and months slip past, and I can only watch from a distance, watching as I act like a love-struck fool. But you love me, too. I do, Sam. I’m sorry I did this to you, I thought. It wasn’t your fault, Sam. I believe you didn’t know what would happen.
