“You want the bliss, the magic to continue — but that time has passed. A new chapter awaits us, and staying where the previous one ended brings no real happiness,” I told her months ago when we first broke up.
There are always risks, monogamous, or not. It’s up to us to take it, and see if we can make it work.
I knew I wasn’t living life well, squandering my youth at a boring job I hated. But the full realization came at a chance meeting with old friends. Meeting old friends is like bumping into your past self, some parts good and some bad, obscured by age and forgotten with time and new habits. They remind you of old dreams, old convictions, old passions.
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Growing up, I always envied kids who could afford to be immature. I wanted to rebel and hang out at malls and go to beaches and trips. But a fully-lived youth isn’t free. And not all people can afford it.
There are three types of emotional wounds: Those that heal quickly, those that take a long time to heal, and those that remain with you until you die. Or so a famous Japanese writer said.
Emotional wounds are often subtle. The problems build up, little by little, until one day, something goes wrong. And you’ll have to face it.
I was forced to examine my emotional wound when I couldn’t keep my penis hard during sex.
Friends, siblings, parents, partners. Relationships aren’t obligations or investments. They’re gifts.