I suppose it is good for the soul to be hurt and perplexed perpetually. I know at least that I miss you damnably: that is a good fixed star. I do, and would rather be hurt by that, and have something solid to hold on to, than flounder in a quicksand that never bruises but only smothers.
Everything we do is a choice. Oatmeal or cereal. Highway or side streets. Kiss her or keep her. We make choices and we live with the consequences. If someone gets hurt along the way, we ask for forgiveness. It’s the best anyone can do.