First, you must acknowledge that the pain is real, even if the pursuit was flawed. Desiring beauty, intimacy, or passion is a fundamentally human trait; you are not a monster for reaching through the thorns.
Yet immortality is not the same as healing. A forbidden flower, once lost, leaves a peculiar thorn beneath the skin of the present. It turns ordinary pleasures bland. What is a permitted peony compared to that contraband orchid? What is a sanctioned love compared to the one that required nightly vigils and whispered codes? The forbidden, by its very nature, inflates its own importance. Its loss does not deflate it; rather, it crystallizes it into a ghost that haunts every subsequent, lawful attachment. Losing A Forbidden Flower
