It doesn’t matter how strident the end is. It’s hard letting go. Can’t get my head around the loss, and the fact that I shared the truest and most honest version of myself, that I gave my everything, and that it all will vanish with every passing day. But that’s life. One must get comfortable with (or, at least, used to) the impermanence of things and people, and the everlasting repercussions of our choices.
Metaphysically speaking, we are living all possible outcomes of our decisions, at the same time, in parallel dimensions. Billions of lives, spawning from every single decision we’ve made daily, since we were born. Empirically, whatsoever, we can and will only experience one of these lives. We are tied to the one-directional stream of consequences of our actions; our brightest moments and our stupidest fuck-ups, and everything else in between, conditioning the rest of our mortal existence.
It is, regardless, hard letting go.
Our relationship was tough. Nonetheless, it was not futile. I loved, emotionally and physically, with an intensity unknown to me, and I gained learnings that will last me until the end of my days. Still, I hate this strictly utilitarian conclusion. In an ideal world, it could’ve been us. Perhaps in one of those hypothetical parallel dimensions, it was.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published.