Thousands of years ago, somebody came up with the idea of impermanence of the beauty and inevitability of change.
I’m pretty sure they had just been dumped.
I had a long time to consider the value of memory, and the idea that just because something doesn’t last forever doesn’t mean its worth is diminished.
Maybe it was just a rationalization – easier on the soul than mourning what might have been – the life unlived. I honestly don’t know, but I chose to believe in memory.
I chose to believe in her. I chose to believe that the bond was never broken and that we carried each other in our hearts.
As a secret singularity. She made me a writer. She made me a man.
There would be other loves. Even great loves. But she was right, only one remained perfect.
And as a result, it never quite left me alone. I wondered if it remained perfect for her as well. Or if I was just holding onto an idea.
Some questions have to go unanswered. But you are never more than 20 ft away from someone you know. Or someone you were meant to know.
I don’t know if I will ever see her again. I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Or a bad one.
But I will promise you this. Your favourite story, whatever it might be, was written for one reader.
— via 5 to 7