so much of adulthood is just grieving in secret. grieving ex lovers, grieving dead friendships, grieving your parents sinking into old age, grieving the person you thought you'd grow into. grieving cities you never got to live in. grieving parts of you that couldn't survive.
“Happiness is in the quiet, ordinary things. A table, a chair, a book with a paper-knife stuck between the pages. And the petal falling from the rose, and the light flickering as we sit silent.”
— Virginia Woolf, The Waves