I read this, this, and this tonight. I used to search these stories out so that I could frame my life, know what to want, what to expect.

I read these kinds of things differently than I used to. I don't seek out these stories anymore to quench my former thirst for love stories or to dictate what my life might (assumed would) be like. But I do allow my heart to host the profound happiness of my friends and, when I come across it, the from-afar happiness of thoughtful writers who share the delights and difficulties of their lives.

It feels like the first time I read T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets. A loveliness I can absorb, somehow understanding and not understanding all at the same time. It's a good feeling.