People leave before you are ready for them to leave. Your life is not a novel. There is not always closure, and you can’t expect that the world will grant it to you just because you don’t feel right or you can’t move on without some clear, symbolically resonant moment to end the narrative. You miss talking to people who have long since stopped missing you even though you know your conversations would not be the same. Your life is not a novel. Nights spent alone can be just as significant as nights spent with loved ones, and sometimes far more necessary, but barricading yourself in your bedroom for weeks on end will not do anyone any good. Your life is not a sad poem. Get out of the house. Your life is not a Bright Eyes song. Don’t think about what he did in Chicago. You will leave people before they are ready for you to go. We love unevenly and unpredictably and love is not inherently good. Your memory will betray you. You will betray yourself. You are not weak for wanting to be loved. Your life is not a novel.