This may be my final entry. As my lifetime grows longer, my memories seem to grow smaller. You, of course, are in my mind always; our time spent together meant everything to me. However, this leatherbound book has been all but abandoned. Perhaps I do not like to remember the weakness I wrote of before, and hid this book from myself without conscious thought. Whatever the case, it seems writing to you is a fruitless effort. I doubt I will ever show these to you.