I say unto you -- go forth and multiply. Make art, carve statues, beat iron into a Roman bust just please for the love of God do not make children.

“...I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire...I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.” 
― William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury

The second day when he didn't come to meet under the willow tree, Ada understood. The heavy rains were coming down hard and the moors had flooded. The ponies were nuzzling against pieces of fence forged long ago surrounding the New Forest. 

There are only a few moments which stay with us throughout our lifetime and we actually simply rewrite those sequences. I don't like how presumptuous this sounds. 

In the centre of Londontown I took your hand and we had two steaks and salads on the side. Garden. Mustard sauce on the side. 

ada ada ada ada ada remember England; was it whimsy? I had worn a blue dress and my hair was red red red. Do you remember the June wind? Or was it late May? I only want to embrace you. I only want to be free.  

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So much time has passed from the time that a portrait of yours was captures in my memory camera. I should have finished this novel a long time ago, my love. But this life picked up and I had to live it. I remember my grandmother in black and white at her desk at work. Typewriter in tow, half-finished cigarette in a silver fancy ashtray passed down the line from her petty gentry mother in law's side. Hair piled up high, curled, auburn.Chestnut. She always corrected me. It was actually brown, but she had the elegance of Sofia Loren. As in, none. But her modesty, her grace, her wisdom and the same almond eyes drowning men by the buckets in them. Yet she only made passes at my abusive grandfather. God keep them strong. You always serve at the altar of familial duty, don't you? Back off. You don't know them. I do not need to. 

Ada finished her rosewater bottle just in time for the wedding. Adam was long gone. She did not use any scent. She would walk down the aisle adorned in sweat and fear. This was not what she bargained for and God forgive the offspring that she would produce. They would not be borne of love. They would crown towards divinity with fancy shoes and embroidered velvet dresses and tailored shirts, depending on the sex. There was only so much nobility to bestow upon a loveless marriage. Yes, it was considered aristocratic to marry from love -- according to her and Adam. There was only their written word. She was betrayed and jilted yet lovelier than ever. Eyes of green, skin white white alabaster white and not a vein showed. There is so little to hope for during the Victorian era. There was only duty.