I need to get this off my chest. After sitting with everything that's happened, I know, in the deepest part of me, that this really is the end. At first, I thought my compassion had finally reached its limits. And that was something I had never experienced before. I've never felt so disconnected from my own heart in this way. I definitely have not been perfect at being patient. I know that. But my compassion is usually what carried me through. It kept me looking for another angle I hadn't yet seen, trying to understand what I might have missed, trying to stay open to the possibility of change, and finding it in myself to try just one more time. But as I continued sitting with my feelings, working through them and letting them unfold through the poems I wrote, I began to understand what was really at the heart of it: Hope. I've lost hope. I can count on one hand the number of times I've experienced this kind of loss. The first was with my mom. The second is something I'd rather keep close to my heart. And the third is this. Us. These three poems trace how I've come to understand that loss over the course of this week. And the most painful part of this realization is that the compassion I feel for you hasn't disappeared. Neither has my ability to recognize your humanity, or to wish good things for you. And I would know, because I actively tried to shut those parts down. They haven't. I doubt that they ever will. But something in me has finally come to its end. It's my hope.