We all want to hear the truth. But when we finally do, even though we know it was for the best, we start wishing with all our hearts that we hadn’t, because that’s when we know it’s too late.
What happens when two people want completely (or at least significantly) different things? One person is burnt out and trying to break free, and the other seems dead set on hanging on for dear life (Note: exaggeration for effect only). How do they work it out so that both parties are at least reasonably satisfied? Does the defector grit their teeth and stick with it in the hopes for a change of heart, or does the tagalong hold up their head and walk away? If the fire has died down and the butterflies have flown away, is there any hope at all that the fire will reignite and the butterflies will come home? Or is it all too late?
Too late. The most terrible phrase ever uttered. Too late to be sorry, too late to be loving, too late to be kind. Too late to try and fix the things that went so horribly wrong, too late to say everything we wanted to but were too afraid to say. Why do we always learn from our mistakes just a little bit too late? It seems that only when we’re on the verge of losing that we suddenly repent and fight tooth and nail to regain our position and make up for all the mistakes we made — only it’s just a little bit too late. But then when we’re on the other side of the field, watching someone else fight a losing battle, do we keep our feet planted firmly on our side, knowing it’s where we stand that matters, or do we relent, reenter the foray, try to help them and hope to get out of it alive once more?