We all stay because we have a responsibility, she thinks. Or an obsession. Or at least a reason. If it was gone, we'd go too.
And it would be for the best. The wheel is patient; the wheel waits; there will be somewhere else for them to go. There's no guarantee that there won't be new pain, but what kind of masochist clings so desperately to curses and to tears?
But it's hard to leave when the flowers are so beautiful.
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