that I hate goodbyes? And not the until tomorrow kind, but those that bear the weight of forever or at best the hint of indefinite. I wish I knew why life moves the way it does, I think that that would make life easier, but I’m not so sure. This I do know, the world is made up of constant breaking and building. As with light and dark, good and evil, it appears that nothing beautiful in this place can come without the death of something else. The fates play an evil song that way.
And then there’s the duality of puppets verses puppeteers, and the question of how much do we really get to decide for ourselves? I’ve loved a great deal in my time, some times by choice, others by compulsion. Regardless, the loss of either has scarred just the same. I find it rather poignant that the heart is made of muscle, yet is considered a something greater all together. A composition of fibers comprising the vitality of an organ. In the same, our ethereal hearts are completed from the sums of all the people, places, and moments that have brought us here, to this moment, to life.
So I guess it seems as if when those goodbyes are spoken, it’s as if the sinews tear and a beat is skipped, the loss of a little life. And in the middle of that is the hope that strength will be the result. A greater heart, a stronger beat, a deeper life. Because if tearing down does not indeed grow us better, then those goodbyes will really start to break our hearts.
