And the bleeding goes on

There come dimensions and depths of sorrow I never imagined existed. Desire, ignorance, misconception driving choice in the direction of tragedy. I've read that during world war II, Chinese soldiers would gamble on the plane, and since they had no money, the loser would jump to his death when the flight was nearing its end. I feel as one of those soldiers, watching as the dearest person in my life has anted up. Choice matters before it is made. Choice changes nothing after it is made. I'm almost powerless now, and it's at least half my own doing. Even the writing of this risks increasing the imbalance, and the plane door is open.

There is no saving promise, oath, or vow if the soul is seized by night
There is no intervention when access is denied
No distraction without interaction
No redirection unless there's connection

Did I leave the gate open and the wild spirit wandered off by instinct?
Did I neglect and the spirit dug it's way out?
Was I a lost and frail human too weak to express care, and the half-blind spirit saw the wrong half, and sawed the wrong branch?

I do not know. I should not say. I've little interest in the physical world. I'm in solitary confinement in the midst of marionette zombies.