"Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love."
Jane Austen
Have you yet to navigate the murky waters of love as it contemplates friendship? Is it simply shocking satire to court the idea? And if not, at what point does the act turn from tortuous displeasure (think rubbing alcohol directly applied on the wound) to soothing "balm"?
The emotional shifts to rational yet clings to the possibility of an enduring, loyal relationship. That tenuous space in between offers us a mirror with which to view ourselves more clearly.
Precarious as the jagged edge may feel, an elegance exists here. A silent sanctuary created in the absence of breath and hope but pregnant with the realization that nonetheless life and love endure.
We lack nothing.
Everything is falling apart and then back together even better than we ever could have imagined.
