"I can't believe it, Young"
"What is that, my love?" The Young we know never coos, nor even seems to understand the art of making love, but this is the old Young, this is the way that he used to be in all of his naive splendor.
"Young I can't be it"
"What is that, my love?" What he heard in her voice- a measure of displeasure, disbelief and a helping of dishonor- he'll never forget.
"Young, I won't be it..."
"What is that, my love?" And at that, at her first step towards decisiveness, Young was Undone. Unloved. Un- John.
She had a choice.
His very life was gone.
Oh, Young.
What sentementalities you and I share for life and love and things undone.
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