Yo soy en Mexico y soy con mi cabeza escogiendo lo que deseo hacer con toda mi vida y mi vida escogiendo lo que va a hacer conmigo,
The Eternal Struggle for Peace
I want to say something, but I'm not sure what it is. I'm going to Albuquerque; that's one thing. I'm not giving up on us, am just calling a truce. Tell me about your own rose garden as you go alone. (Freudian slip; was meant to be "as you go along.") I don't love you. I've changed, too — and don't know how to relate the difference. Consider that we're hanging on to a pattern of misery, not to each other. Forgive me. And do you see a point in keeping in touch - whereabouts, addresses? I fear forgetting about you, as I don't trust a future. I am now in the present. My own fantasy world is real. I don't trust people. My decision is Albuquerque. We cannot be together now. What did you mean? My long letter to you I've discarded - lack of realness somehow. It's your decision, man.