Something again has reached its end and I struggle to acknowledge that it has. All my life I’ve cut loose, shut doors, and ended chapters and stories, but in my world of imagination, I carry on, making every effort to preserve what little I can from what I’ve lost. For weeks, months, maybe even a year, I know I’ll think unreasonably about what has gone away. I’ll spend days and nights thinking, justifying what had happened, reviewing every single moment that had led me to the point of the loss, until finally, I conclude half-convinced that, no, I am far too hard on myself. Memories will drum away and I’ll keep remembering all the time I spent purchasing stock for this lost thing to work out. I’ll remember the places, the people, and all the little things that associated me to the irrecoverable. I’ll walk through familiar buildings, talk to familiar friends, do familiar things, and I’ll smile resentfully and store myself away, because, for the time being, no place is safe.
But one day, my alarm will ring, just as it had this morning, and I will roll out of bed, thinking of new and different things. The wound will have washed clean and I would slowly recover, as the bruises gradually turn into trophy scars and the memories become sacred stories. Soon again, my room will start to hum old music and my art will start to sing praises of the beauty of life once more. This has happened before and there’s no reason to believe this won’t happen again.
If there’s one thing my life has taught me so far, it is that life itself is always fluctuating, blowing you hot and cold in unequal amounts. It is important to remember that there is never a sure victory and that we are always subject to defeat. When you give something away, it doesn’t always come back. It doesn’t always provide you recognition. It doesn’t always protect you, get you discovered, and it doesn’t always return your love.
We pay a high price for our love and for our dreams. In our pursuit, we lose the bridle and give up control. We lose perspective, we lose the ability to protect ourselves, and if we fall, we lose the ability to appreciate what we have lost.
Something again has reached its end and it is time to cut loose. I have to release something else once more, not because I want to, but because I need to. Only time will heal me from here on out, but I am young so time is all I have. In the meantime, I will close the door, clean my room, and hope desperately that tomorrow will be the day I wake up thinking about different things.