Life without Ophelia was difficult. I told myself I was okay. I told myself I was over her. I told myself I was ready for my next relationship. Chantal was it. She and I met under similar circumstances; heartbreak. But our relationship remained at the level of friendship. She was, after all, newly married. I was in denial. Our constant contact was a recipe for disaster. The pages I wrote about her never crossed any lines, but deep down, I wanted to trample over them. I wanted to be with her, but I never let the ink in my pen express my desire. Repressed further were my open wounds in this post-Ophelia world. I was no longer catching up. I was just trying to live.