Sometimes I drop off of a cliff, and fall into a river of grief that moves so swiftly, it carries me through decades of memories and regret within the length of one random song that I hear on the radio. I hadn’t heard this song in years. The song ends with me struggeling to not pull the car over and lay down, to cover myself with leaves and not be—not be living, feeling, hurting, losing. You are a hole in the middle of me where every happy thing fells into. Every day I remember less. You can not protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.

It feels like a moment I’ve lived a thousand times before, as if everything is familiar, right up to the moment of my death, that it will happen again an infinite number of times, that we will meet, marry, have our children, succeed in the ways we have, fail in the ways we have, all exactly the same, always unable to change a thing. I am again at the bottom of an unstoppable wheel, and when I feel my eyes close for death, as they have and will a thousand times, I awake.


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