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Me, jealous? Preposterous. Need I remind her I introduced Callum and Hannah and then fled? I’d been analyzing the pair since, complete with internal David Attenborough–style narration about the hesitant male venturing to a dangerous watering hole, courting a female unimpressed by his dark plumage. It was all I could do not to intervene.
What I would endure personally and what I would tolerate on behalf of others were two different things.
“Everything changes in this world. Not always for the worse. Wounds heal, if you let them.”
If this backfired, it could be the end of our friendship. If it worked…I couldn’t imagine denying her a single thing.
Without warning, Lark turned on the light attached to her mobile and obliterated my retinas.
“We show the people we love the ugliest parts of ourselves, and we tell them the truth even when it hurts, because that’s what intimacy is.”
Integrating painful history into a collective story has been our way for generations. We didn’t forget, but we moved forward.
Grief is as nonlinear and convoluted as it is persistent.
Vision murky with tears, I stared at our hands. “I’ll miss you.” “A terrible thing, that. But all we can control is how we choose to move through life. With honesty. With bravery. With love. I know you can do it.”
To love was to accept risk.
Love was a living thing. It spread like wild brambles and took over everything.
For so long, it seemed crucial for everyone to like me. Life was too short to seek approval from someone unwilling to give it.