Don__ you think it__ actually harder for you . . . to adapt, I mean? Because you__e done all that stuff?___re you asking me if I wish I'd never done it?_____ just wondering if it would have been easier for you. If you__ led a smaller life. To live like this, I mean.___ will never, ever regret the things I've done. Because most days, if you__e stuck in one of these, all you have are the places n your memory that you can go to._ He smiled. It was tight, as if it cost him. __o if you__e asking me would I rather be reminiscing about the view of the caste from the minimart, or that lovely row of shops down off the roundabout, then, no. My life was just fine, thanks.
Regrets are particularly poignant for the old, those of us who have used up most of the chances we'll ever get and are left to make peace with our failed choices. Most things distance themselves with space and time to eventually slide off the edge of our consciousness, but not regrets. You can shove them aside, disavow them for a lifetime, but they always return. And the longer you deny them, the more they punish you when they can no longer be held at bay.
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Regrets are particularly poignant for the old, those of us who have used up most of the chances we'll ever get and are left to make peace with our failed choices. Most things distance themselves with space and time to eventually slide off the edge of our consciousness, but not regrets. You can shove them aside, disavow them for a lifetime, but they always return. And the longer you deny them, the more they punish you when they can no longer be held at bay.
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As he stared into the ocean, he must have tossed a lifetime of apologies into its silence. Maybe he thought the tide would wash his troubles away.
Taking risks is part of life, but to take risks invites the possibilty of failure and rejection, but also the possibility of true happines.
No matterwhat he did to make Claire__ life better or show her he__ changed, these memories would always linger in the recesses of his mind. For the rest of his life, he__ know what he__ done. Tony hated himself for all of it__ell, he always had the end justifies the means argument, but even he didn__ believe that anymore. Not now. Not now that he knew Claire and loved Claire.
Love, is sometimes a simpler form of slowly dying, it's like a bullet that ricochets off time's walls of desire, waiting to hit that picture perfect heart of regrets.