I was told to 'regret less'

I've watched the sun rise and the sun set, I've seen the clouds hover above me and have felt the breeze sweep me off my feet, I've watched the moon hold steady and disappear with the stars, I've endured. I've endured but I've watched the law become true over and over again.. what goes up must come down.

She sat there locked away in a closet in the far of the condo with her best friend. They lie up against the wall both lost in thought.. or just lost. He was thinking of the girl in Tennessee and she had a block in her head that wouldn't let her think of anything else. Small talk here and there about the day, exasperated sighs about the relevant song that was playing, and the room filling with random thoughts that tried to squeeze their way in. The bottles of liquor lined up as if any amount could wash away the thoughts clawing at her mind. They were ever so present, and now more vibrant than before. She had gone through almost half of whatever was in the clear bottle and though the thoughts were fewer and the laughs were less painful, there was no escape. It was the start of something new with an abrupt halt. He knew her pain, knew her passions, knew her fears- as did she. Willing to delve the depths, to fight the good fight, to run the same race. Time would now pass slower than it had before, watching the seconds turn into hours, the days turn to years, and the months turn to eternities. She knew it hadn't been for nothing, that the conversations were worth more than the skies, that the thoughts were there for a reason. Her best friend looked at her the night before and said, 'I've never seen you smile as much as you have in the last few hours'. Drowning in the river that was forming from her eyes and mind, bleeding out, the fault lie on the fence between the beauty. Understood, of course. Regretful, not for a second. Wishful, every moment. But she'd be lying through her teeth if she said she was okay. She did that often, told everyone she was okay despite the plentiful pains. What was another goodbye? Another good moment lost at the parting seas? Another smile flat again? Another wish that the dandelion forgot? Another burned piece of wood? The woods were indeed lovely, dark and deep. She would return there soon and wait. Wait for the beauty to come again, wait for the tattered valiant flag of belief to be sewn and carried again, wait to become live again but not leave once whole. Handler had it right, it wasn't the diamonds or the birds, the people or the potatoes, not any of the nouns. The miracle was the adverbs, the way things get done. It is the way love gets done despite every catastrophe.