I didn’t need to judge my own actions so harshly, or think that I owed everyone in the world the most complete version of my kindness in order to be worthy of good things. I did not need my fear. Maybe of heights. I could keep it a little bit. I didn’t need my fear of control. Letting go was the best part. All good things had happened to me when I stopped trying to make them the most perfect version of a moment. I did not need any last shred of belief that there was any sort of rule book for life that I had to follow. Messy was good. Messy could stay. And romance could stay. I could have my
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