To live is a hard thing to do, and so too it is to choose. It’s a greater challenge altogether to live with some of those choices.

Some choices — the real, big choices — I think never exist in a single time and place, but in some perpetual state. Reaffirming, reoccurring, reconfiguring, reincarnating. They have to, just as you do, and so they live alongside you.

Like the choice to walk away from someone you love, when you believe that choice will help set them free. And choosing, time and again, year after year, dream after dream, to bear that choice without ever telling that someone that your heart stood ever still.

Love is itself a choice. Maybe the ultimate choice we can make in our lifetimes. And the choice to love, beyond the selfish and possessive desires that masquerade and diminish it is, at least in this goofy and burning heart of mine, probably the strongest proof of one’s self that we may ever witness.

that’s why it’s so hard, dangit. ya dummy.