Each time I remember the fervent wish to turn back time so the person I'd lost would still be with me, but I don't remember allowing myself to really grieve.
I always thought I was a codependent rescuer because I was a person who was too nice without enough boundaries, willing to give myself up, to lose myself, helping another.
When my brilliance was no longer enough to keep her close, I kept in on even in her presence to remind her, my light was still there, still searching for a way to penetrate her shadowy walls.
Whenever a story is entering my mind, I simply don't entertain it and gently come back to the time and place where I actually am. Recognizing the freedom of being alone in a crowd is utter bliss.