// Figuratively, a manifestation of grief; a lament.//
What I oft mistake for romance, for it appears suddenly—out of love—with such an intensity, is the feeling of frustration and heartache when I am exposed to anyone who is crippled by their own unhappiness. The frustration at seeing my mistakes played out by others — walking the same circular trap of unhappiness. The frustration of not being able to live their lives, to open their hearts as if they were my own, to make the choice to live fully. I can’t; if I could I wouldn’t: it is not my dance to dance. Still, I want to shake them, shout at them to start living freely: free from doubt, self deprivation, wishing without doing; free from wasting time being unhappy. The decision must be theirs’ to make alone. I imagine this is how parents feel: guiding without ruling. We all have our own lives to live, each uniquely beautiful.
