What is it about him that sparks the intense need to turn around and forgive him and tend to his wounds, even while I bleed, falling onto the very real but thin cushion of the fact that I can walk mine off? How is it that I— Queen Tough Love herself— can feel as if my most important task is to cradle him after his own damn foolishness is what earned him my turned back to begin with? No... no. Enough.