It is one of my least favorite words. I hate having regrets. I always promise myself that I will do my best not to have any, but in this human experience, sometimes it just can't be helped. We are emotional and sometimes irrational animals, fumbling through this world one precarious step at a time. Sometimes we fall off the edge. Sometimes we throw ourselves off.
I think what I am most afraid of is not having enough moments. Or that because of moments past, that if this chain of moments were to suddenly come to an end, that others wouldn't understand the gravity of the moments past and they would say things that they needed to say so that they could rationalize things to themselves, but those things wouldn't be true. And like so many other things, a certain story would be told about those moments that were a fiction. And the truth about the moments would be lost forever.
The truth is that I loved with a stumbling, raging passion that was nonsense and madness. The way love is sometimes. And even though the chain of moments were imperfect, nothing was perfect, and they just were what they were. I wouldn't have traded any one of them for any other experience.