Returning You to the Crowd

There is a kind of love called "Returning You to the Sea of People." I used to think that when two people separated, it was because they no longer loved each other, or because someone had committed a mistake so heinous it brought the relationship to an end.

But as I’ve grown older and experienced several separations, I have slowly come to understand the tenderness and helplessness in this image.

Sometimes, love still exists. When you see the other person, your eyes still light up; when you think of the past, your lips still curve into a smile. It is just that we know, better than anyone else, that this love can no longer support two completely different life paths.

Love in youth is about possession—about trying every possible way to twist two parallel lines together. Love in maturity, however, is about understanding; it is about finally learning to be "responsible for each other."

Responsibility is no longer about forcing the other person to conform to your life's script, nor is it about forcing yourself into ill-fitting shoes. True responsibility is seeing honestly: we are still beautiful, but we are no longer suitable to walk side by side.

Continuing to force a bond only wears down the most precious feelings, turning the last bit of tenderness into resentment.

Like two people in a painting, walking back-to-back into the sunset—though heading in different directions, their eyes still carry blessings and gratitude as they look back at one another.

"Letting go is the deepest blessing." This sentence sounds light, but it is heavy to carry out.

Only by loosening our grip, like dandelions carried by the wind, can you go where you belong, and I, too, can find my own rhythm again.

Thank you for coming into my life and accompanying me for a while. Now, I return you to the sea of humanity, and I return myself to myself.

May we both be well and shine brightly in our unseen futures.

Thank you for reading!