Even in Autumn, She is the Spring

Vexedly, I tapped the glass whose sloping walls warped and elongated the bookcases and fireplace of my study. It was dishearteningly thick, the Lessening having worked exactly to my specifications. Previously, when placing the bottle horizontally in it's stand, I saw it as fragile, but from the inside, the glass looked dense enough to reflect a bullet. I would try it in time.

What started out as a way to get around the time allotted to my wife and I by DNA, nature, or god, had become a prison. If I had to start over would I do it again? Of course. Claire was worth this failure and a thousand more. But I'm stuck and I don't know if she'll find me before my own time runs out.

All I wanted was more time with her before she was gone. To give her the time she deserved, I needed time for myself, for my work. Money lubricated the difficulties of life, but if I didn't work then I grew distracted and antsy. She knew this when she married me. For the chance drink more deeply, I may have trapped myself in a desert.