some pieces of you are left with those with whom you have shared most of your life. like chipped-off paint sticking to their shirt, pants or skin, they carry these parts with them and away from you. And then, suddenly, suprisingly, you feel that there's a particular facial expression you've forgotten how to wear, a kind of laughter that you can't make anymore, a side to your personality that you can no longer be. (because we, in varying degrees, are different persons to different people; maybe only some can make you chatty, a few can make you honest, or only one can make you cry.)
and these pieces seem to increase in size in proportion to the distance between you and them, as well as the duration you keep that distance. you can live without these pieces, of course. as always, the only relevant idea is, do you want to? (as you get older, everything seems to be re-classified under "issue of preference".)
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your time on this earth is the most precious you can give to anyone. don't give it to just anyone.
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why is a good, open conversation so rare these days?
