"live better stories"

It's happening again: that awful feeling of nausea. I haven't been on this end of the equation in quite some time. It's just as terrible as I remember to hurt someone who wants to love you by no longer returning that love, or at least not the in way it ought to be returned. Even if it was never a fireworks display, that love was alive and had its own kind of vibrancy. Will I extinguish it?

What is bearable? What is a story that can be lived and borne in this context? What kind of endings do the stories being written and unwritten across my heart hold? "I don't know" satisfies no one, and perhaps isn't even true.

"I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hours we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light's delay."

And more must. Without drink, without sleep, without dark in which to hide. I didn't want it to be this way. Can't I just flip a switch, change the frequency, make it work (Oh, Tim Gunn, if only love were like a fashion competition and your trite command of encouragement could save me from myself--but I'm not the one who needs saving from me).

Oh, I remember this. I don't want to re-write that story, re-live that line. Must I? Come what may? Live better stories. Is is the verb or the adjective that has me stumbling?