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What I’m starting to realize is that things meant to happen are just going to happen. There’s no preparing, no preventing. They just happen.
Sometimes you hold onto things too tightly and they crumble in your hands, and sometimes you don’t hold onto them at all.
But here’s the thing—we’re all dying. Every damn one of us. And the whole point of life is to live while we’re still alive—that’s the point.
“Do you really believe I’ll uncover your flawed pieces and think for a second they won’t be pieces worth keeping?”
“Home is something I buried a long time ago,” he tells me, voice cracking with sentiment. A breath passes between us, a drumbeat. And then he whispers, “But I buried it inside you. Just in case I ever wanted to go back.”
There’s no joy without grief, no fulfillment without loss, no laughter without pain. Yin and yang. That’s just the way the world works, and I guess it’s up to us to weigh the good and the bad.
Within the tangled roots of grief, we stand to lose so much. But no one ever acknowledges what we stand to gain. Strength. Perspective. Appreciation. Resilience. Those things are often buried, overpowered by grief’s mighty right hand—suffering.
