Demon in Pink.

The hardest part I couldn’t seem to ever process in my life is that every beginning eventually has an ending.

It has been a conscious decision to start each friendship; each relationship–each surprised hello with the same surprised goodbye. ohh and if you are extra lucky there wouldn’t even be a goodbye.. just plain bye and never talking to that person ever again.

It’s like being in a conscious decision of starting morning knowing that night is bound to fall upon ending our day.

 

I am never good with goodbyes, or rather I’m am ridiculously terrible when it comes to it. I can’t seem to face someone who I just ended things with or ended things with me, I always act as if nothing happened on the hopes that maybe if I do so, then my brain will automatically delete it’s memory in my head and never reminding me of it

 

My coping mechanism was somehow lodged in the safety of the infinite beginnings I could no longer quantify. My coping mechanism was the selfish ideology that the pain is a necessary means to polarize the pleasure.

Everything is an excuse.

I end things before it ends me.

I broke up with people before they break up with me.

maybe, because I feel like if I did it first then It’ll hurt less.. It didn’t.

 

don’t want to know how I am with the possibility of breaking again. Of finding myself without a multitude of beginnings.

Of finding myself with a singular finale.

Of finding if I am strong enough to live my life not spread across pages of books I can’t remember the covers of.

 

 

 

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