...and put her somewhere else."
This is ancient. Like Greece, and shit. Why it matters, now, I'm not sure:
Yes, life is beautiful.
It's hard, but so worth it.
And damn, it feels good to make peace.
Believe me, it still hurts and always will. I read my journal over and over sometimes and feel like everything I felt was a waste; it makes me sad. But then I look at what else is there.
Now I understand the excitement. The splendid aura of contentment. The overwhelming magnitude of belonging, of happening.
He can do more for you than he could for me. And the other way around.
The way it was, it would have never changed. Going around in circles gets people no where.
So, I'm content. I'm okay.
I don't have a reason to lie anymore. None of us do.
Some things make sense. I had the word "just" in between "things" and "make," but I took it out because it's not just. It's a lot. It's so much more.
There's gotta be more.
I think I know you.
I think we've met before.