To Flee or Not to Flee

(From the perspective of Heathcliff, from Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, right before he decides to run away, because he doesn’t think the girl he loves, Catherine, does not love him back)

To Flee, or Not to Flee

To flee, or not to flee, that is the question:

If it is braver of the heart to suffer

The scorn and hatred of unreciprocated love,

Or to take a stand and hope for change,

And by hoping, find love. To flee, to mourn

No more; and by fleeing, would Heartache

And all His friends simply

vanish with time? It’s something to be

hoped for. To flee, to mourn,

To mourn and perhaps to lose heart. That is the danger,

For if through mourning hope melts away,

Then hope and love are lost, and such a thing cannot be.

Yet who should bear the indignation and anger,

The purposely blinded eye, the proud woman’s contempt,

The shattered heart, the unfair endings,

And the cold glare of disproval from all others,

All of which could quickly fade away

By fleeing? Who would bear such toil,

Shed tears and cry out to the wind,

Except for fear of losing all hope entirely?

That path is not yet traveled, and it puzzles the mind,

And breeds fear in this cold soul,

Preventing my feet from treading that pathway.

So fear of losing hope makes me a coward,

Neither moving forward, nor staying here with her,

And so my soul rots away in mortal anguish,

Face pale and yet I have those remnants of hope,

That do bring even a little comfort;

Perhaps one day she may once more cast

Her loving eyes towards my selfish figure.