Rumi isn't offering the hollow comfort of "you'll find someone new"—he's describing something stranger and more true: that loss doesn't subtract from your life but transforms it. A closed door with a lover becomes the solitude that lets you write your first honest poem; a failed career becomes the humility that teaches you to listen. The real wisdom lies in his refusal to distinguish between gain and loss, suggesting they're the same currency exchanged in different denominations. When your child leaves home, you don't recover what you had; instead, you become someone capable of missing them—and that capacity itself becomes the form your relationship takes next.