The Collected Regrets of Clover

by Mikki Brammer

I didn’t usually listen to anything—it was the feeling of being enclosed that comforted me. Sliding them on was like escaping to a private space of my own, observing the world rather than participating in it.

But, then again, loving someone inevitably also meant one day losing them—if not by rejection or betrayal, then most certainly by death.

The secret to a beautiful death is living a beautiful life.

So maybe we just need to appreciate that many aspects of life—and the people we love—will always be a mystery. Because without mystery, there is no magic.

And instead of constantly asking ourselves the question of why we’re here, maybe we should be savoring a simpler truth: We are here.

I feel as if I’m being shown another approach to living that’s so foreign to how I’ve been raised.

To be cautiously reckless.