I hate change. I hate loss. I hate endings. Safe to assume that this is a unanimous hatred shared between us all? I think so. All things considered, everything is attached with an expiration date- films, music, literature, friendship, even life itself. I suppose there’s beauty found in the recognition of the fragility of such things, because we learn to appreciate, to cherish, to love. But instead, I've grown cynical, impatient, tired.
I’m an idealist. I always have been. I sit more comfortably in abstract ideas, thinking big picture, focusing on the grand scheme of things. Perhaps, a nod to my right-brained tendencies or maybe just a distaste for absolutes. I realize that it’s a bit juvenile and impulsive of me but I often get so lost in my own painted ideals and I dismiss the possibility of any sort of conclusion. But when this conclusion hits- and it always does- I’m entirely defeated. Paralyzed by the reality that nothing lasts. These endings are always so abrupt. And I know that pain is part of the process, trust me, I know. But I often find myself here-hurt, deeply saddened, and wondering if the excruciating pain was ever worth the temporary pleasure?
Endings are hard. Soul crushingly hard. And though, inevitable, we never truly see it coming. Nothing prepares you for loss, and there is no adequate cushion to ease the fall. But we keep moving forward. Not because we want to, by any means. But simply because we must. And for the first few days, weeks, months even, we feel quite empty. Just going through the motions of life, all the while feeling like a shell of a person. Emotionally drained and mind numbingly sad.
But hey, I’ve been here before right? Or at least some semblance of “here.” It’s a double edged sword- the highs are high, but man...the lows are fucking low.
The human heart is quite fickle isn’t it? It loves as it wills, hurts as it pleases, and heals when it’s ready.