It is done.

You will ache for a while. In fact, the aching might never go away, but you are free.

Love has no set definition; it is a word that only finds meaning when you stumble blindly into it, and then it becomes a standard of calibration. I have stumbled down the stairs. I have stumbled into a space in which no light existed, and it made me question my own existence.

I am human, and I have loved you, and you have been selfish with it; only selfish love hurts.
When you love selfishly you ruin those that love you, and you ruin those whom you love.

But I am not ruined.

I promise you, every single experience: every single joy and every single hurt that you feel are all just little pieces of a puzzle. Little pieces of a very colorful mosaic.

It is done, but I think I’ve already mourned you.
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