Someone I love told me something really freakishly beautiful once. Something about how souls are like glasses of water, and once you combine them, you’ll never be able to separate them again, because if you pour them back into glasses, it’s not the same glass of water you had before.

It is a different temperature. Maybe a different color. Different elements than before, added or diluted or filtered. 

“The Atlantic was born today and I’ll tell you how…The clouds above opened up and let it out.

I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere
When the water filled every hole.
And thousands upon thousands made an ocean,
Making islands where no island should go, oh no.

Those people were overjoyed, they took to their boats.
I thought it less like a lake and more like a moat.
The rhythm of my footsteps 

Crossing flatlands to your door have been silenced forever more.
The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row
It seems farther than ever before

I need you so much closer.”
Death Cab for Cutie, Transatlanticism

For awhile I trusted in love, in fate, to tell me the difference between what is real, what is in my sad, scared head and what is worth my time….more I see, it is about choices than anything else. What you choose to love. What you choose as your fate. What you choose is right, or wrong. Even still, it’s not all up to you. Something’s got to choose you back.