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Not everything is a disaster waiting to happen, I tell myself. Although, strictly speaking, it is.
I’ve given up guilt over the things I did, the losses I caused. Guilt wants erasing in a big bottle of ice-cold vodka. Regret asks for amends, and I wish I could offer them.
“Love is not always destructive,” he says quietly, and slides a finger up my shin. “Sometimes love creates.”
“Your quest is powerful. You needn’t apologize for the
"Your quest is powerful. You needn't apologize for the space it takes."
