One thing I've realised is that, people come and go. Even if they've been there for years, it doesn't make any sort of difference. Even if you've thought that they'd be here forever, it made nothing of a difference because preferences change with time. Priorities change, with time. The importance of a person to someone does change with time. The only manageable thing to do is, to accept that, everyone makes their own happiness and that happiness is subjective. Everything is subjective. With that perspective, disappointment would be relative to reliance and independence would be loneliness. But if a person can embrace loneliness, in certain circumstances, a person can embrace happiness. The act of dealing with something on your own & accepting that anything & everything that happened is done because of your own made choices. You are what you make of yourself. And any shitty play of life is of your own doing. Like a glass of water. To look at it as lacking or filled, is to your own perspective. You are your own ruin or your own success. You are beauty or beast, and you will always be the person to decide a beginning or end. Accepting temporaries because everyone, no matter how selfless, needs to self-service. No matter how people deny it, everyone does things to satisfy their own needs. People connect through relation. Relation by satisfaction or acceptance. We're such selfish beings, yet we will never admit it. I will never admit it. We try to be selfless. Yet, the world dies while we strive. It's funny really, to realise that normality is more unique than the act of being different. Who wants to be normal these days? Everyone thinks they have a purpose. No, better yet, everyone believes that they have a higher purpose. I won't deny that I am one of those people. I  have always felt that I was special. Put on this earth for some sort of purpose, privileged and all. But really, doesn't that just make me self-absorbed? Isn't that the cause of all problems? discrimination and prejudice? Self-absorbance. We are, unfortunately, our own traitor. We are, unfortunately, our own demise.