Enough.

So listen, she told me, I'm trying not to go too fast. Because I've asked for a lot of advice on this subject and gotten in way too much trouble by asking and the overwhelming response has been not to rush things too much. Fools rush in. Wasn't that what they said? Except I'm not sure, because the rest of life is a race that the rabbit would win, where biding your time is for the vengeful and the criminally insane. Slow means stupid, but here, all of a sudden, it equates to wisdom. So I guess I must be stupid, then, because I'm having trouble taking my time.

And I'm worried, she said. I'm getting worried because there are things I do not know. There will always be things I do not know, and this concerns me to no end. I do not know if it is worth it. I do not know if I will regret the shift. If the change will matter down the road. I am worried that I do not know, and I am worried that you do not know, either. That you've never looked past the second that I finally....

She sighed, and the wind kicked up. My fingers shook inside my glove, which she noticed, and when I looked back down she was holding my hand.