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Yes, I mourn every loss. I wish those who leave me behind would love me enough to stay. Yet, recently, there’s a certain calm I feel in the midst of all of this.
An emerging light.
Obviously I want people to love me and stay with me, but I don’t get dirtied up by the experience if or when they leave. I have a sense of peace and acceptance. There’s a small yet enduring sense of liberation that I feel with every goodbye. This outweighs any hurt I may feel from losing those I love or care about.
Maybe you’ll say this is a coping mechanism, to be stoic and indifferent and detached. I wouldn’t accept that this is true. I regret every failed relationship, and deep down inside I hope that there’s a chance that things will work out. I still check my phone for a missed call or text or email.
The difference this time is that I don’t allow myself to dwell on some ideal. I’m perfectly happy with things playing out the way they must. I’ve come to see that one of the biggest sources of pain is that sometimes we fix ourselves on an idea and that we allow for no deviation from this perceived ideal. Life may take a thousand different routes to happiness but, oftentimes, in our blindness, we consider the safe steady one we choose to be the best.
I’ve come to accept that I am not the best of authors and that life itself may be a far better one than I. Better is it at delivering disappointments yet surprises and maintaining suspense and describing details and in the end a far more satisfying experience than anything my limited faculties could conceive.

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