itโs exhausting either way. but reading things like this makes me feel like a bit less of a fuck up for feeling that way, esp since iโm surrounded by married couples.
There are certain souls, like butterflies, whose fragile wings cannot withstand the slightest touch, who leave pieces of themselves upon the fingers that touch them.
That is the pattern: many relations, one center; many moments, one path; many differences, one boundary; many interactions, one field; many dimensions, one whole; many wholes, one infinity. Everything is one and many.