Stop correcting me

It’s one thing to remain fond of what was; it’s another to harness your time to those no longer present. Not the dead – they have whatever you give, which is enough even if nothing – but the living who don’t think of you. The ones who don’t give you room even in thought.

Who else could live there if you let them go – if you stopped looking at their pictures and their curated joys and sadnesses? Why are you preventing yourself from finding a place in someone else’s pictures instead of simply absorbing theirs?