I say goodbye.
I’m pretty much comfortable with myself now and with the decisions I made and am making. I know I have changed and I like myself better for this. I am not as trusting, or as open as I once was, nor as "needy" or as "clingy." I guess when one gets older, she gets somewhat jaded, the youthful idealism diminishes, and so does the futile search for perfection and complete order and control, and the once entirely rosy-colored world becomes a more bearable reality.
The events of my life didn’t leave me scarred for eternity. I became a better person because of them. There had been no anger at anyone or at myself, nor self-pity. Maybe acceptance also comes with being older. Or should OBEISANCE be the term?
"Totally free and spirited me no longer... and with no trace of defiance, I bowed humbly to a force stronger than I."
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