It's a marvel of mental survival to be among the ones that remain in this mortal plane to endure the pain. We cling to the terrifying portal that they passed thru - drawing out what was in reality only a moment into an experience that never ends. It becomes a part of our existence, a fiber in our souls, that we must find a comfortable place for to save our sanity. A cultural immaturity, weakness, that we cannot celebrate each process of life. A life lived, complete. Instead of redefining a relationship, relegating it to sadness. Something I prefer not to associate with a loved one.
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Love Style
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