Bittersweet miracle

I had wondered for some weeks now if it would come to this. If one firm, unshakeable decision on my part would affect not only the friendship it directly involved, but also the peripheral connections. And apparently, it would.

I’ve never really believed in coincidences. I’ve always gone by the creed that most — if not all — things happen for a reason. I don’t know how long ago it disappeared before I noticed it. It could have been minutes, hours, two days at the most, but the timing was what convinced me that this was no coincidence. The conscious decision I made to remove myself from the life of someone whom I no longer considered worth making the effort to remain friends with had led to the loss of another friend who had, at one point, been everything to me.

Even though I had imagined this happening — and indeed, imagined it aloud to Shirley — it still came as a small surprise when it finally happened, or when I finally realized it. But, most surprisingly of all, was the absence of that stab of pain I always felt at the slightest memory, the slightest trigger, of a time long ago, when that destructive, consuming love had dictated my life. And that absence is the most liberating part of this seemingly endless process of trying to get over you, because I’m going to take it as a sign that the process is finally, gloriously, coming to a close.

Even to the very end, you were always my bittersweet miracle.

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