The three of us sat up and talked about old loves, and I mostly listened, because they were talking about torches they still carried, and things that had gone wrong, and how they should have been before they learnt the lessons they had.
Eventually, I told them how lucky I felt, despite all the things that had gone wrong, all the history and weight I was carrying.
Those first relationships, those first loves, we all looked back on them with regret. They walked away wishing they could have stayed, that they’d fought harder, cared more and sooner. I walked away, after three years, finally having learnt that you can’t hold onto everything, or even most things. I walked away wishing I’d learnt that lesson three years ago.