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I always believed that we would find our way back to each other every time. But this time it felt final. Like I would never see him again, or that when I did, it would be different - there would be a mountain between us. I knew it in my bones. This time was it. I had finally made my choice, and so had he. He let me go.
After all the world is indeed beautiful and if we were any other creature than man we might be continuously happy in it.
I still feel that poetry is not medicine — it’s an X-ray. It helps you see the wound and understand it.