The hardest times are the times when we realize that we don’t have a place in the space and time of something else. We’d wish that it could be an extension of us but it isn’t and perhaps was never meant to be. I guess it’s a lot worse when we do have the pleasure to be one with that space in a time that is too short. “And just like that” I’d think to myself and we all probably do when everything closes so quickly. It’s unnerving when things close without a closure, without making sense, if I may.

Maybe it isn’t about letting go. It’s about being let go. We partook in this and made this. Substance out of emotion that filled the space and void, made sense of with time. We connect. We become what we make, a close but distorted reflection. Despite the reflection, we chose to not distinguish the difference, effectively becoming that substance that’s held together and broken by time. The reflection would never hold us back, yet the fear of something we could safely perceive made stepping away uncomfortable.

The problem with time was that it helped make sense, it gave meaning and depth. It had to be painfully short or painfully long. Either way, it could be damaging. This realization at the eleventh hour wasn’t comforting. But it shouldn’t matter. We were here for all that time to be a part of something perhaps timeless and precious. We’ll be here again, sometime or another time, but surely, we’ll be here. Maybe not in experience but in essence at least.

We’ll be let go off, again.

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