All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. ~Anatole France
A part of me has been dying. It has been waiting for its death since god knows when, and yet I held on to it blindly, not wanting to let go, allowing it to eat away my own life.
To others, it might have been long dead, it might never even have existed. But I held it within my grasp because I thought I could fix it. That I could bring it back from what I hope was just its slumbering state. But I concede, with only one request.