Most of the people in your life are like books. No matter how many the pages, someday you're done with them. Then there are those other people, people who are like biographies. You're done with them, when you're finished yourself. These people have a piece of your soul, each one of them. For some, you parted with it most willingly, in all your senses. In case of some others, you were a helpless spectator watching them grab a fragment of your soul and take it away with them, probably out of your reach. So when you long for them, it is the piece of your soul that you crave for. That is why you feel incomplete. And that feeling of incompleteness grows in you, making you feel empty. That makes you desperate, that makes you unhappy in a way nothing else does. That missing piece makes you, "you, minus the missing piece". So now you are "you, minus the missing piece". Now you're not you. That missing piece drives you crazy.

Then later someday you accept it. You start living with the incompleteness. You get used to it. The incompleteness becomes a part of you(I mean "you, minus the missing piece"). But you never go back to being you. You will always be "you, minus the missing piece". You live with that incompleteness. And it dies with you. People who are your biographies are dangerous. They could be fatal.

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