I feel the look of a large yellow red head from a drawing of James Marshall on my shoulders and on my chest. It’s heavy. My throat is dry and swollen. It somehow gets harder to breathe freely when standing in front of the drawing. I feel the pain, disappointment, temporariness, desolation and surrender. She’s staring at me as a silent witness of a near impracticability of finding someone compatible with you and even if you do find that person, you have to let them go most times for many reasons.