Everything is temporary.

Somehow, this fact makes me sad — and yet, it also brings a strange sense of relief.
Life wouldn’t have meaning if it went on forever and ever.
I think — and this is just my humble opinion — that anything only gains meaning and purpose because it’s temporary, because it has an end.
Everything — places, people, experiences — holds meaning precisely because it doesn’t last forever.

I used to fight this for the longest time.
I wanted things to stay — people, places, feelings, versions of myself.
I thought if I held on tightly enough, maybe they wouldn’t fade away. But they always did. Some with more drama, some with more grace.
And maybe that’s how it was supposed to be.

But I couldn’t understand it.
Why fall in love if it wasn’t meant to last?
Why open yourself up just to face heartbreak, loss and grief?

Maybe that’s what growing up really is — learning to love without holding on, learning to live without needing guarantees.
To understand that even the most beautiful sunset eventually gives way to night, but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful.

I guess you could say that’s the beauty of it all.
If nothing ever ended, nothing new could begin.
Every goodbye creates space for something new — maybe even something better.
Every ending, no matter how painful, makes room for the next version of us to emerge.

And I think about all the people who were once so central to my world — the ones I couldn’t imagine life without.
Now they’re just names in old messages, faces I sometimes see in strangers, memories I occasionally revisit.
And still, I smile — for most of them, anyway (some will need a little more time and distance before I can feel gratitude).
Because they were part of my story. They’re part of the reason I am where, and who, I am today.
And maybe that’s enough.

It’s happening in my life right now, as I’m writing this.
One chapter is ending — and with it, a lot of connections, routines, and pieces of familiarity I’ve grown used to.
But another chapter is already waiting to begin.
Who knows who I’ll meet, who I’ll become, and what moments will find me next?

I find that reassuring — every beginning comes with an end, but every end also makes room for something new.

I truly believe people enter our lives to expand them — to show us something, to teach us something, to open our eyes to a new perspective.
But they don’t have to stay.
Most of them are only meant to walk beside us for a part of the journey.
Because we needed something from them, and they needed something from us.

It’s always a kind of exchange — not always obvious, but always happening.
A silent give and take.
Sometimes it’s a lesson in love, sometimes in loss.
Sometimes it’s simply learning who we are when we stand next to them.

I’ve learned countless things from strangers I briefly crossed paths with, from friendships that faded, and from relationships that broke.
And I like to believe they learned something from me too — even if it was just how to love a little differently, or how to say goodbye with more grace than before.

I used to think that love which didn’t last was love that failed — whether it was in friendships or romantic relationships.
Looking back, I see how naive that was.
People come into our lives for a reason — to prepare us for the next chapter, to help us grow into the person we’ll need to be when the next door opens.
Because there will always be a next chapter. Some characters follow us into it, and some we have to leave behind.

Still to this day — and I hope for the rest of my life — I sometimes look back on chapters I’ve closed and finally understand why things unfolded the way they did.
It’s never comfortable when it’s happening, but in hindsight — strangely enough — it always makes sense.
I’ve learned to be grateful for every temporary pain, every loss of love, friendship, hope, and even the moments I lost myself — because looking back, each one brought me right to where I am today.

So for now, I’ll keep learning to live with, and at the same time, learning to live without.
And I hope you do the same.

– written somewhere between endings and beginnings