"On the surface it seemed like a grave tragedy, a loss so great it would haunt me forever, an incision so deep I would never fully recover from it. Because here was a man who loved me, and who would always love me. All I had to do was love some part of him back—not even his entirety, that wasn’t even required of me. Just certain fragments; I even got to choose which ones. It seemed like a colossal waste to walk away from it, but it was—and perhaps I always knew it could be—unnervingly easy to let go. Here was a man who loved me, who would always love me. And that was a tender thing, a precious thing that did not find its way towards every earnest person with bent knees and clasped hands and closed eyes. It was a good thing. It was just that it wasn’t enough."