If Eric Thinks I Did Something Right,

I Suppose That Now Would Be The Time To Ask For Forgiveness For All The Things I've Done, But I'm Sure My List Would Never Be Complete. I Also Don't Believe That Whatever Comes After Life Depends On My Correctly Reciting A List Of My Transgressions...i Don't Believe That What Comes After Depends On Anything I Do At All.

His Fingers Leave Streaks Of Cold On My Skin, Invisible To The Eye, And I Think About Wrapping His Shirt Around My Fist And Pulling Him In To Kiss Me; I Think About Pressing Myself Against Him, But I Can't, Because All Our Secrets Would Keep A Space Between Us.

I Am Wearing A Gray Shirt, Blue Jeans, Black Shoes--new Clothes, But Beneath Them, My Dauntless Tattoos. It Is Impossible To Erase My Choices. Especially These.

I Don't See Any Elderly People In The Crowd. Are There Any Old Dauntless? Do They Not Last That Long, Or Are They Just Sent Away When They Can't Jump Off Moving Trains Anymore?

A Sob Racks My Body Again, And He Wraps His Arms Around Me So Tightly I Find It Difficult To Breathe, But It Doesn't Matter. My Dignified Weeping Gives Way To Full-on Ugliness, My Mouth Open And My Face Contorted And Sounds Like A Dying Animal Coming From My Throat. If This Continues I Will Break Apart, And Maybe That Would Be Better, Maybe It Would Be Better To Shatter And Bear Nothing.