As I sit here tonight, I realize that bitterness has been allowed to consume me.
Something I read in a zine recently was talking about endings. How endings are not the most important part of a story, or neccessarily even a part of a story at all. I really had to give that some thought, especially as I am trying to negotiate some endings of my own in my life as best as I can. Things that linger on, years later, things you wish you'd said or done differently, that sort of thing. Insert your own here and grimace with me. That sting is familiar, isn't it?
Now think about how it may not matter if an ending ever comes, let alone a happy one. We all know it ends badly. It ends in death, at the very least, and quite often in ways that are even worse.
What is important instead is the joy of the moments. The first time. The confidence. The full stride. These are the ways to measure moments and lifetimes. You can't think about beginnings and ends and judge it by them. A tapestry is not its loose ends. It has to be known by its exhilarations, and the full breadth of color and experience.
This is something I often forget, especially as I tap my toe, waiting for things to change, or at least the chapter to end. Maybe it won't. Maybe it already has. But in the meantime, life is still happening, and the good is not negated by the short sharp shock. There is more to being than ending.