In the end, it’s not the finality that scares me. What terrifies me is the transformation happening within. Denying what’s meant to come, and in doing so, crushing the dreams of those who choose to leave.

I never wanted to forgive even the smallest mistake, because I saw myself as flawless. I understood perfectly, I gave perfectly, I loved perfectly, and I offered my heart perfectly. That’s why I have no desire for second chances. Believe me, you don’t need a second chance from me. You truly don’t.

On the road to happiness, I battle forces beyond comprehension. The hardest to face is the weight of omnipotence. It’s standing right in front of me now. And you—you’re not far away. You linger on the sidelines, lighting a cigarette, full of regret. I get it. You wanted to be more than you could be.

You’re angry with yourself, silently asking, “God, how can I connect with others while she exists? How do I offer chances to them when she’s already given me everything? How do I call anyone else when she’s waiting for my call? How could I? How could I share my problems with her and have her understand me so deeply, run to her when the world shatters me, only to break her myself? How could I let her calm me, hold me, soothe me—then, once I’m whole again, be drawn to what she lacks and forget her? No, she’s not temporary; she knows her worth. She cherishes things others overlook. She’s one of a kind.