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.