I'm bent on letting her go through many things on her own. I cannot allow any hint that I can be depended upon, because she needs to learn on how to depend on people other than me.
But why is it that this heart is gripped whenever I think or read of the things that she's going through?
It's just like how I am fond of a woman who is hardworking, but it pains me that she has to work hard. A true contradiction, or a valid paradox?
Perhaps my heart isn't as cold as I thought it is. I might rejoice in this for a bit, but I'll be honest: this possibility is to me both pleasant and dreadful.