What’s worse than getting your heart broken is breaking your own heart. It’s a crushing tragedy when you realize that sometimes love is simply not enough. It is even worse when you have to act on that realization.
For a long time I generally considered nine years old to be the best year of my life. The reasons are now blurry. Nine is my favorite number, but I think that was the result of nine being my best year, not the cause. Still, nine: a time of new identity and change, growth and excitement. I basically reinvented myself.
I often long to be nine years old again. Or any age other than the one I’m suffering at any given moment.
Frequently during conversations about spending time apart from my soulmate, he would express concern that we wouldn’t be able to go back to how it was.
How it was when?, I would ask. Right now? Because obviously right now isn’t very good since we want a break. How it was years ago?
The confrontation is this:
You can never go back, you can only go forward.
Forward into time apart, and then forward into one of two options; reunion or further separation.
Love,
Secret
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