It is amazing, though, what pains your subconscious will undergo in achieve sustainable peace.

When do we stop crying over our own injuries? When we get old enough to swallow our tears, or when the people we love stop responding to our cries of pain?

The completely profound senselessness of my own existence explodes into it's own blissful freedom. There is no impending moment, no past moment, only this one, and without past there is no sorrow, and without future there can be no loss.

...and be emptied of gravity and surrounding by the rouge wave of an emotion she could not name.

Tears of grief are unique. They contain chemicals that aren't found in the more mundane droplets of moisture that bathe the eyes, as if our tears wash us free of some noxious cause of sorrow. And tonight, after crying until I am empty, I have a rare glimpse of my own interior landscape - wounds piled like tiny skeletons into the reef of conscious adult life. I am aground amid my conquered traumas, stranded as a consequence of my achievements.

Death might be a blessing if it means you never have to face this kind of grief.

Survival through denial. Works every time.

But love isn't a career. It isn't a degree you earn or a formula you pull out of a textbook. It's bumpy and blotched and painful and completely irreplaceable. Aren't there times when it might be better to let go? Sometimes the best part of life grows out of what you have no say over.

Your lover should be your best friend.... Love can be a choice as much as an accident.