The best part about being alone after a long period of not being alone is the bitersweet ability to celebrate yourself. It’s almost like attending your own funeral: long-past memories surge up and you sit there in unbridled solemnnity and you relive them, because they made you. Such memories would seem utterly inconsequential to a passerby, but they carry the utmost meaning to you because they nearly let you grasp the intangible. Your evanescence, your ghostthe way you were and the person you’ve become—transcends time and somehow lingers in those memories. As you relive them, you can almost taste the summation of your life.

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