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“I know everything feels hopeless to you in this moment, but this is just a moment, and moments pass.”
He has made peace with the idea that part of life is facing your failures, and sometimes those failures are people you once loved.
“How could you forget that?” “I don’t know.” The truth is he does it constantly. He is always looking back, living more in memories than the present, often altering them to make them prettier. To make them perfect. Nostalgia is as much an analgesic for him as alcohol.
Life is nothing how he expected it would be when he was young and living under the delusion that things could be controlled. Nothing can be controlled. Only endured.
he loved the person she used to be. Devastating because the woman who haunted his dreams was truly gone. As unreachable as the dead.
“What’s more precious than our memories?” he asks. “They define us and form our identities.”
We think we’re perceiving the world directly and immediately, but everything we experience is this carefully edited, tape-delayed reconstruction.”
He has wondered lately if that’s all living really is—one long goodbye to those we love.
He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past. —GEORGE ORWELL, 1984
Just being together. A thousand small moments, but enough to have made life worth living.
Life with a cheat code isn’t life. Our existence isn’t something to be engineered or optimized for the avoidance of pain. That’s what it is to be human—the beauty and the pain, each meaningless without the other.
Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards. —SØREN KIERKEGAARD
