I have spent a lifetime trying to break away, trying to break out, trying to find myself. Always on the edge, always on the outside, not quite a part, of it, not quite a beatnik, or a mod, hippy, or punk. I was early to realise that what she wanted me to be was what she had wanted for herself, about her, not me. I wanted to escape such love. I thought I could escape. I thought I had escaped. And I did, surely I did escape some of it. But not all. Not enough. So even now I feel tethered. After all this time of leaving her behind, I remain unsure of my own.