Why could we say more to each other when it counted less?

I couldn't help but wonder if that was what love was -- believing that someone was going to come through, in the end, and that it would still count

That's the brutality of a breakup, isn't it? The people leaving think they did everything possible, the people left behind think what is possible hasn't even been tested yet.

There are words and there are feelings and somewhere between where the two meet is the truth

We only really remember things for five years. After that, what we remember, what's actually etched in our brain is our memory of the thing, not the thing itself. And five years after that, what's left is our memory of the memory.

Why could we say more to each other when it counted less?

We have to figure out how to let go, and forgive. This is our job.