[It's true, of course, and that's the heart of the problem - the possibility of return makes the exchange of last words feel like an invitation for despair. But not to exchange them - God, what does he have to hide? Does he need an excuse at this point to tell her how much he cares for her?]

I know... I know. I wish it had been better. I wish... it would have been easier, maybe, if I had not come to need what what you have given me. But I wouldn't trade it, nonetheless. Not for... not even for a different end.

[Grace. Mercy. They mean so much more now than they did when he imagined he could find them in some old scroll or dusty tomb.]