Widowhood is like an endless exile and quarantine, nearly two years long my practice run for coronavirus. Not everyone can understand how you can love once, love for a very long time, and then not wait forever to love again, but here I am, with that funny little title of a Chapter Two. To love or to not love? It was like a choice of exile for the rest of your days, or risking the pain of loss or the pain of failure if it doesn’t work. I mean I love love, love is for me what life is worth living for: loving others, loving places, loving moments, loving beauty, being loved, loving the mirages distilled in nostalgia, loving experiences, loving the moments that slip through our fingers *because* they are ephemeral, because we know they, and this, and even ourselves are just as fleeting and once in a lifetime as ourselves.