She feels bad, for herself and that person.
She didn't regret the decision that the person chose,
but she just feels really bad and out of place now.
{d.r.}
Finding something hard to let go is just your mind trying to tell yourself that the thing/person was once really important to you.
That's all.
If it was meant to be,
then it will be,
if it wasn't,
then it won't be.
{d.r.}
Hah. Funny how everyone starts to remember me now. Like I somehow exist now?
I changed a lot, didn't think I would, but I did.
Maybe not changed the way some might want me to,
but still - can't deny the change.
Maybe not my improved self yet,
but changed.
But I'm still me.
And always will be me.
Remember what you went through, and don't put yourself through it again.
She smiles, maybe it was the first ever time that she realises just how far she had gotten, and how long it had been. She gave up a long time ago, but kept on moving, slowly and slowly moving forward. She still cries at those memories, just like she did in class, in front of her teachers, and alone in her room. But that just showed what she had doubted before - she thought she had lied to herself, but really she had stayed through to herself during that time. The more pain you feel when you lose something, the more real/true it was.
Being hurt doesn't mean that you can't move forward. Memories, good or bad, will help you to take those steps forward. Give it time, give it a chance.
Thank you xo
From a great height he
watched. Cars, buses, boats, people. Slowly, he drew his plans for his great
escape.
Will it result in
death? Or to live in denial?
He looked at their
faces, watched them closely as the time flew past.
Every day he watched.
One by one they passed. One by one they moved on. Moved on with their own
lives. Unlike him.
Every day he would see
the exact same characters going past. The milkman dragging the crate of glass
bottles across the pavement, the few tourists dragging their luggage bags behind
them, the girl searching for the keys to her apartment…clink clink clink…all
the same, every single day.
He couldn’t see the
point of living any more.
Today, it was going to be different. With a pen and paper in his hand, he began to think of the different
things he could write on it. He scribbled a few words down...then scored a line through it. Scribbled again…another line through. He tried to scribble down all the reasons as to why his life is worth living; was his life really that useless?
