It is done. The message is delivered.

These hours are not built for rash decisions.

Contemplation, examination, and extrapolation are required. One should not move without knowing the cost of their choice.

For so long this one has been the means for which others are able to find their purpose. Working as a conduit for which time has flowed, forward and reverse, never grounding myself in one place as there was always another in need in another eon. To describe the calculations required to bend time to my will, so that by looking forward one might plan for the past, I could not do so to any other, kindred or no. Yet I tax myself for them as my self has never had the same worth.

This is not to say I have not found joy in my life. A creator at times. A mentor at times.  A mother at times. And on rare occasion, friend and lover.

To be worth something to someone, that is what I desire. In this I believe Duccio was correct: my actions were selfish. Through rite of motherhood, this one sought to create a being that would need her, rely upon her, give credence to her continued existence. In some small part, perhaps that is why I have found humans to be the offspring I have not been granted. Someone to need me--

--Is that what my being has become? Nothing without someone. Ether without substance. Weightless and floating until one reaches out to make contact...

At this moment, the cloak given as gift lies folded across my lap, keeping me grounded. The return to Roma was intended as a pilgrimage for forgiveness, Leonardo's and my own.  Yet I am not ready to let go of the pain; I mourn for a concept that never became reality and this one is unaware of how to move forward from intangible dreams dashed.

My hands stroked over my belly, tauntingly flat, and I wept for hours. Throughout I clung to the cloak, imagining that its giver was here not this broken silence filled with notes of my misery. Even while incapacitated, there was his presence cutting through the haze of shattered heart and mind, allowing that reassurance that I was not just this mass of nothing, an oxymoron of shaped nonexistence.

Another tear drops now on the cloth, soaking into the crest and the decision is made. With him I have purpose beyond sorrow. With him I am not adrift. With him I remember who I am.

Salutations, my little one.

*stoops to cuddle you to her chest*

# Megan get in me

No Lorenzo.  No Leonardo. Struck by accursed normalcy in my life.

*flops onto her bed*

*is immediately swarmed by her cat and dog*