We kill all the caterpillars and complain that there are no butterflies.
Yes, I was infatuated with you. I am, still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my mind, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those.
Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.
I don’t think that anything happens by coincidence. No one is here by accident. Everyone who crosses our path has a message for us. Otherwise they would have taken another path, or left earlier or later. The fact that these people are here means that they are here for some reason.