All that I am.
All that I was.
All of these things, I can let go now.
It seems bizarre to me that the world holds all its mementos in people.
Its existence is dependent on us, for without our perception, would the world even know itself?
How much we suffer for this perception, but how much we are able then to enjoy, to live, to truly live.
Such is the gift.
Such is the price.
Such is the nature.
Of all things.