It is a human condition: that love, especially if true, will always involve a letting go. – Secret History of the World by Jonathan Black
Isn’t it the greatest irony that we spend our days on a romantic quest, jump from one failed attempt on love to another in search of the elusive soulmate, and as soon as we find it, we realize it’s simply not working out and we have to let them go?
We tell ourselves that if we could just find The One, we would finally be happy and complete. But the happiness we find with them is fleeting, and we have not caused them happiness but misery, and the only recourse is to part from them so they may search what will make them truly happy. And the cycle never ends.
What is the point in all this searching? What is the point in feeling a sense of certainty that everything led you to this moment if the moment only ends too soon?
Why do you have to let go of the very thing that makes you happy? Why do we always have to choose?
But the point is, I did let go. And he came back.
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