The certainty of the end has got to be the saddest thing. Or I don’t know. I’ve heard of people who remain serene when they know there is nothing left to do, no solution to their life-threatening condition, and they just let go. Letting go is important. But how to do it is the question.
Once I felt invincible about the possibilities that love offered, no matter how hard it seemed to keep it going. It was in my hands. Distance was a terrible obstacle, but I was sure I had the means to overcome it. But that was only one variable I could control against thousands of others. Time and lack of reciprocity, for instance. Or let’s not call it that way, but rather… much more enthusiasm on one side than the other. One side believes in love as a miracle to be conquered against all odds, the other thinks of love as merely incidental. It works right here right now where we found it or it doesn’t work at all. Unfortunately (the word is an understatement), I cannot offer right here right now to anybody —unless they were willing to come here, which would of course be absolutely wonderful—. And there’s no word about alternatives to make paths intersect. Perhaps my brief presence does not elicit any sort of hope nor craving for a longer future together from anybody.
So here I am, letting go. At least I’m not clinging to it desperately. One lesson I’ve learned before is that cats that cling to curtains sooner or later rip them with their claws. However, I still wish life were a tad more benevolent towards me in terms of creating opportunities to experience shared domesticity. Oh well. Someday, I guess.