To stay committed to that which is the conscience ideology of what is, in essence, the most misleading and unreliable driving force within ourselves is not so rare. In fact, it is more common than perhaps the most typical of occurrences. It is an act that in every way is more thrilling, and certainly more satisfying than what may be the logical alternative. To jump without looking, to choose a definite path that holds an indefinite future may be what keeps insanity at bay, and the desire to never stop turning the page alive.
"It all comes down to this I miss your morning kiss I won’t lie, I’m feeling it You don’t know, I’m missing it I’m so dumb, I must admit It’s too much to hold it in I can’t say no more than this I just hope your heart hear me now Gotta let you know how I’m feeling You own my heart he just renting Don’t turn away, pay attention I’m pouring out my heart oh boy."
Secrets dont exist. Everything always comes out. They catch up with you, no matter how fast you run from them. And when they catch you they dont just pass you by. They latch on to your ankle and they rip your balance from you. And there’s no miraculous defiance of gravity. Inevitably you fall. You fall hard. Everything that represents justice laughs in the face of your agony and you’re left with no one, not even yourself, to trust. . You scramble to pick up the shattered pieces of your broken, bleeding heart, but there’s nothing and no one to help you mend it back together. You stare the bonds of men and of women in the eye, and you blink first. . It is the most potent mix of remorse, anger, frustration, confusion, depression, embarrassment, anxiety and surrealism that could ever be imagined. Remorse for the action that served as a ferry to such devastation. Anger for all that is out of your control, the rash reactions that manifest into hatred. Frustration for being incapable of mastering time and manipulating the past. Confusion as to how every ounce of trust was obliterated with a betrayal so harsh. Depression for the self pity you cannot deny yourself. Embarrassment as a room full of peers stares you down in the most unforgiving judgment. Anxiety in fear of what you cannot predict. And surrealism in the most heartbreaking of the sense. You can hardly admit to yourself how you’ve hurt the one you love, and the most precious of memories conceal the reality until, little by little, it breaks free of its prison and you are stranded. Empty handed. Broken hearted. Alone.
All poetic nonsense aside, I’m sorry. Lol just kidding, fuck that.